Epiphanies For Sale
by Gem4
Summary: Riley's return after Joyce's death makes Buffy reevaluate what, and who, she wants. Meanwhile, Glory has her own plans for the Slayer, and a new partner in crime.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer:  The characters are not mine, and Sunnydale is not my creation.  I'm borrowing (from Joss), I will return (to Joss) and I'm not getting any money for the borrowing.  

Spoilers:  Up to "Intervention"/"Dead End."  I'm nicer to Tara than Joss is, though g

Rating:  Guess we'll say the usual PG-13 and see what happens

Author's Note:  I started this story towards the end of Season 5, based on rumors of the return of Ick Boy, but I put it aside in favor of other stories.  After the recent rerun of "Into the Woods," however, I was inspired once again to vent. I've decided I...I mean Buffy...needs closure g

Epiphanies For Sale By Gem 

The demon was headed straight at her, sword extended and an ugly smile on his gnarled little face.  Buffy turned around just before he struck, tossing another of his brethren through a boarded-up window to clear her field.  Without pausing for a breath she kicked sideways, propelling her latest attacker backwards towards the far wall...and directly into a very familiar figure.

"Riley! What are you doing here?"

Another of Glory's minions was preparing to separate her ex from his head before he had a chance to reply.  Buffy called out, "Duck!" and as he did so she threw the sword conveniently dropped by the demon she had flung through the window.

The sword cleanly decapitated Riley's would-be assassin, leaving the former commando stunned, and a little chagrinned.  He ran a hand through his dirty blond hair and attempted the "aw shucks" grin Buffy had once found rather endearing.

"I guess some things never change," he said with a studiedly casual shrug.  "I step in to help...but you've already got the world pretty much under control by yourself."

"Practice makes perfect."  

She tried a shrug of her own on for size; it felt a little stiff, but she didn't have much time to refine it, or the rest of her answer.  Three more of Glory's minions chose that moment to lay down their lives for their god and the ensuing battle left little time for thought, let alone conversation.  It wasn't until the last demon lay dead on the floor that she remembered the extra presence in her little group.

"Xander," she called, "is Tara okay?"

"Fine," answered the witch herself as she made her way across the chamber, leaning heavily on Willow and Giles.  "Glory was too busy telling those creepy little monk guys what they should do to me for them to actually do much of it."

"Gotta love a woman who knows how to delegate," Xander marveled with a shake of his head.

Once she saw that Tara was safely restored to Willow, Buffy cautiously approached her former flame; uncertain of why he was there, and still less sure of her feelings about the same.

"Umm, Riley, how did you know..." she waved her hand to indicate the carnage, some of which he had helped to create.

"I stopped by the house and Anya told me where you were headed."  Riley looked at his feet for a moment before he faced Buffy again.  "And Dawn told me about your mom.  I'm really sorry, Buffy.  About what happened, and that I wasn't here to..."

"It's okay," she said swiftly.  It was hard enough to deal with her mother's absence on a daily basis; she didn't want to be responsible for making Riley feel better about it.  "We're okay.  We're surviving.  One minute at a time."

One minute at a time, just as Angel had told her to do.  A sad smile drifted across Buffy's face; for one of those minutes she could almost feel the comfort of his arms around her as they leaned against the tree next to her mother's grave.  She could hear his low voice in her ear, and feel the gentle pressure of his lips brushing against her hair.  It was those minutes that gave her the strength to face the other ninety-nine thousand minutes alone.

"Buffy."

Buffy came back from her dream world with a lurch, Giles' hand on her shoulder an anchor in an otherwise hostile reality.  She glanced up at him, knowing deep within her bones that his comforting gesture meant she was going to need comforting.

"She's gone, isn't she?" Buffy asked quietly.

"I'm afraid so.  But we are all safe, and relatively unharmed." Giles drew a deep breath.  "I suggest we adjourn to somewhat less hostile territory and regroup.  Riley, will you...that is to say would you like to join us?"

Riley looked over at Buffy, trying to read her thoughts on the matter.  It didn't work; it had never worked.  She was still an enigma to him, but he would never stop hoping he could unravel the mystery.

If she would only give him the time to do it.

"It's fine, you know, if you want to," she said diffidently.  "You helped save the damsel in distress; I guess that rates you a cup of bad coffee."

"That's all right Buffy; I'll make the coffee this time," Giles offered.  His intent was to be helpful, but his Slayer's answering glare seemed to indicate where his good intentions could take him.  "Yes, well, why don't we, umm, get going?  I daresay Tara could use a good night's sleep in her own bed."

"Well if you don't mind, I guess I will come with."  Riley smiled hopefully at Buffy, though he was not encouraged by the pale copy he received in return.

* * * * *

Buffy had often imagined how she would confront Riley if he someday returned to Sunnydale; in fact, those first few days after his abandonment, her only pleasure had come from imagining creative punishments for his crimes when he finally came crawling back.  After the first few unnervingly delightful visions, however, she had restricted herself to composing the smartest, and most humiliating put-down in the history of womankind.  It had been a thing of beauty too, full of righteous indignation and four-syllable insults.

Now of course, so many months later, yet just when she could have used it, she couldn't remember a word of it.

Not that it mattered anyway; she had no desire to air her dirty laundry in public, and her friends seemed determined to leave her no private.  As though totally unaware that this night might be different in some way from any other, they had followed her back to Revello Drive and speedily made themselves at home, in their own typical fashion.

First Dawn had to be reassured that all was well, and convinced that bed was the best place to be for someone with a history test the next morning.  Then Tara's wounds had to be tended, along with the ones obtained by the others in her rescue, and Anya had to be convinced that Xander's bloody nose was neither life-threatening or particularly sexy.  Xander's ego, of course, required a little stroking after hearing the latter, and the resulting replay of the battle they allowed him, for Anya's benefit as well as his own, became rather loud and drew Dawn once again from her bed.

Any other time Buffy would have appreciated the Scoobies' show of solidarity; she knew each of them, in his or her own occasionally weird way, was trying to stand by her in her time of need.  They were family, and they would protect her from all her enemies, even those some of them still thought of as friends.  But even as she told herself this, Buffy was still most grateful for Giles' quiet but firm shepherding of the troops into the kitchen for some post-rescue, pre-bedtime cocoa.

Much though she now dreaded it, this was something she had to do by herself, and for herself.

* * * * *

Riley alone had seemed unaffected by the tension in the air.  When he walked in the front door, he had tossed his fatigue jacket on the same coat hook that he'd always used, and then calmly followed Buffy into the living room.  Without a word, he had crossed the room to sit in his old chair by the fireplace and stretched out his long legs, as though this were any of a hundred nights he and Buffy had spent in this house.  A few good kills on patrol, a little instant replay for the gang, and then some smoochies by the fire before bed; this was once the life of the Chosen One and her chosen one.

Buffy could see the memories play out on Riley's face, even as she unwillingly relived them herself; the whole scene felt so familiar, in a slow-motion train crash sort of way.  For one crazy moment, habit started to propel her towards her own customary seat...on Riley's lap.  Instead she began to pace, trying to outrun the awkwardness, or at least outmaneuver it.

"So, South America.  Or was it Central?  Mountain?  Pacific?"  Buffy didn't dare look at him; she just kept plowing ahead.  "Okay, not important.  Anyway, how was it?  Hot, I bet.  Or does it get cool in the winter?  Or is their cool like our hot, the way our cool is like East Coast hot...and we're talking about the weather," her voice trailed off.  "No, actually I'm talking about the weather.  You're not talking at all."

"I was waiting for a lull," he said gently.

"Sorry.  Nervous babbling.  Bad habit."

"I remember."

She felt a flash of anger at his simple comment, and the fond smile with which he delivered it. How dare he pretend to know her so well?  The whole reason he had given for leaving was that she didn't let him in to her life, so how could he claim this great inner knowledge of her mind?

"I'm surprised they let you remember anything," she sniffed.  "I would have thought the Initiative deprogrammed you or something once they got you out of here.  Lots of spotlights in your face, and a high-protein diet."  She punched her fist in the air.  "Go cheese."

"It was my decision to leave, Buffy."

Still the calm voice, the one that made her feel like he was trying to coax her in from her own personal ledge, where she was quite comfortable, thank you very much.

"That's the part I remember," she said coolly.

Riley got to his feet.  "Look, maybe coming here was a mistake.  I thought...I'm not sure what I thought.  I guess I thought that if we had some time apart..."

She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him in disbelief.

"What?  I'd come to my senses?  Realize what a great catch I let slip through my fingers?"

The scary part was that she had thought just that, for the length of time it took her to run to the helipad the night he left.  Xander had done an amazing song-and-dance to convince her to take another chance on Riley, to take another chance on anyone but Angel, and she had bought the whole package.  She had run through the town like a madwoman, hoping desperately for another chance to put things right.  It wasn't until the helicopter blades stopped churning the air above her head that she noticed a traitorous flare of relief at her failure.  

She was not about to let his sudden reappearance send her careening down those dark streets again.

"I thought maybe we could start over.  Start fresh."  

Riley took a quick step towards her, half-expecting her to step backwards to evade him.  The resignation in Buffy's motionless form was somehow worse; she feared contact no more than she desired it.  He wouldn't let himself give up, though; the battle had been lost, but not the war.  Not yet.

"Buffy, I've done a lot of thinking the past few months.  Not that I wanted to, at least not at first."  Riley grinned, hoping to inspire a similar expression on her face.  Despite his failure, he persevered.  "I'm really sorry for the things I did towards the end.  I wish I could take them back, but I can't."

"I know," she said, snapping her fingers.  "It is so hard to find a hooker who gives refunds these days."

"I know it was wrong, and I know I hurt you," he continued steadily.  "But that's not what I wanted to do.  I really was trying to do something good...in a wrong sort of way."

Buffy snorted in disbelief. "Speaking as one who actually went to hell once for my good intentions, you're not racking up a whole lot of sympathy points here."  She cast him a sour smile as she curled her legs up beneath her on the sofa.

He sat down as well, keeping a watchful eye on her face for any signs that he was getting through to her.

"We had something special, Buffy, but it could have been so much more.  I think it still could be, if you're willing to try again."

She drew a deep breath.  There it was:  the elusive second chance.  Buffy knew they didn't come often in life, and she thought she had exhausted her supply when Angel came back from hell.  But here was Riley, offering her another opportunity for a quasi-normal life.  

She knew he wouldn't stray again; he wouldn't dare.  She also knew if she took him back he would do all the appropriate boyfriend things to apologize; he was nothing if not appropriate.  

He would be a solid, dependable presence in her life, from this day forward, in sickness (probably his) and in health (hers, give or take a few fractures); in good times (there had been some, hadn't there?) and in bad (those were a gimme on a hellmouth).  Forsaking all others (if he valued his life)...

Till destiny did them part.

"Riley, I..."

"Hey, sorry to interrupt," Xander said breezily as he entered the room.  "But Giles says we're out of cocoa and he's now on the lookout for java junkies.  Anyone here qualify?"

Buffy glanced from Xander's carefully cheerful expression to Riley's anxious face.  What her own face revealed, she did not know.  All she did know was that this conversation could not be completed within the context of her normally chaotic house.

Buffy swiftly uncurled her legs and stood up.  "Sorry, Xand.  All qualified applicants are going elsewhere."

* * * * *

The streets of Sunnydale were strangely quiet that soft spring evening; even the demons seemed to have retired early.  Buffy would actually have welcomed the distraction of a staking or two, but as usual the forces of darkness conspired to thwart her hopes.

Instead, she and Riley walked slowly down the almost deserted streets, where once they used to run to get back to his dorm room, or his apartment.  They passed the cemeteries where they would have patrolled, in days of old, using slaying as the favored method of foreplay.  A red light forced them to pause in front of a coffee shop where she remembered telling him any potential relationship between them was doomed.

Buffy couldn't help but admire the symmetry.

"Let's go in here," she said quietly.

He followed her in, and then quickly moved around in front of her to pull out her chair.  Ever the gentleman; she remembered that about him too.

Well, except for the vampire prostitutes.  But even then, she reflected grimly, he probably said 'thank you' as he paid them.

"I'll get us some cappuccinos," Riley promised, starting to back up towards the counter.  "Double shot, right?"

He looked pleased with his memory, until she shook her head.

"Just a small black coffee, please."

Buffy found herself staring at her hands while she waited for him to return.  Her nail polish was chipped almost completely away; she hadn't bothered with fixing or removing it in weeks.  When Riley was around, she had made time for such things; it was the least she could do for subjecting him to the freak show that was her life.  Polished nails, pretty clothes, long shiny hair, making him feel 'the man.'  It didn't seem so much to ask...until she didn't have time for the games anymore.  Until her friends started to drift away, and her mom got sick, and her sister was being stalked by an angry hellgod.  

Then it became a little on the 'too' side of much.

"Here we are," he said, pushing the cup between her hands before he sat down opposite her.  "What shall we drink to?"

"A world without evil," she answered, half-heartedly raising her cup to knock against his.  "And lots of pull-through parking places."

He grinned, feeling his spirits lighten at her sarcastic tone.  This was the Buffy he knew, the one who could laugh her way through the worst of times.

"Okay, you lost me on the second one," he admitted.  

"I'm not really good at backing up yet," she explained, "and I think the world would be a better place if the Slayer didn't run people over in parking lots."  Buffy blew across her steaming cup before taking a small sip of the bitter coffee.  "Forwards is getting better, but backing up...I guess it sounds too much like backing down."  Her lips turned upwards in a small smile, though the expression never reached her eyes.  "Not much good at that either."

"So you're finally learning to drive; that's great."

Buffy stared blankly at him for a moment before she moved her shoulders in a tiny shrug.

"I didn't have much choice.  The pizza place delivers, but not the mall.  Dawn needs clothes...and books...and friends."  Her eyes drifted to a point on the wall just over his left shoulder.  "I never realized how much time Mom must have spent just doing stupid errands like picking up dry-cleaning.  Kind of makes me regret all the bloodstains I got on my good minis."  She cleared her throat, realizing she was revealing more than she'd intended.  "You know, aside from the whole 'earth tones are out' aspect."

Riley dropped his own eyes, suddenly remembering what Buffy had been through the past few months, all the hardships she was very carefully not mentioning.  He had been so excited to see her again, so lost in the old breathless feeling of being in her presence, that he had forgotten how she had suffered in his absence.

"Buffy, I wish I had been here for you," he said awkwardly.  "With your mom and all that.  If I had known..."

"You couldn't," she said quietly.  "No one did.  It just...happened."

"So how are you?  And Dawn, how is she dealing with everything?"  

He wasn't trying to ingratiate himself; she could tell that he honestly cared.  It showed in his voice, his body language; he had never lied about that, no matter what else he had deceived her about.

"I'm...getting by.  It's kind of tough handling school, you know, with Dawn and with Glory and all the joy that is slaying.  But I'm handling it.  Dawn, though...she's, umm, not doing too well.  She misses Mom so much and..." Buffy's voice quivered, and then grew stronger.  "And so do I, but I'm strong.  Stronger," she corrected herself.  "I also don't have to deal with being the Key to the gates of hell, so I have it a little easier."

Riley blond eyebrow's knitted together in a frown.  "What are you talking about?  What key?"

Buffy drew a quick, stunned breath.  "I forgot; you don't know.  Dawn is the Key that Glory was searching for.  She's, well, sort of not my sister."  The blank look on his face set her babble-mode on stun.  "At least not originally.  Well, originally if you're only counting her time as a human, because this is her first go around the block like that.  But she spent a lot of centuries as a mystical light bulb before the monks made her try flesh and blood on for size."

"Mystical light...monks?  And this makes her the key thing that you needed to get to before Glory?  When did you find all this out?"  He had a feeling he wasn't going to like her answer; a feeling confirmed by the turn of her head and her carefully modulated voice.

"When I did that spell to allow me to see other spells.  You remember; magic sand and stinky incense galore."

He looked at her with wide, hurt eyes; shining in his memory were the kisses and the soft words between them before he left her alone to do that spell.  

"Yeah, I remember.  But Buffy, that was months ago.  A lot more months than I've been gone."

"I know."  

She faced him again; all signs of guilt or regret now vanished.  He took a moment to absorb her confession, and process the inevitable conclusions.

"And the others?  Do they know?"

It was merely a formality to ask; he knew the answer long before she nodded her head.

"At first I only told Giles, but after we found out that Glory is actually a god, not a demon, I realized they needed to know too.  To help me protect her."

"Wait, Glory's a what?"  Riley shook his head impatiently and spoke again before she had a chance to answer.  "It doesn't matter.  I'm just wondering why you didn't think I could be of any help.  You told Giles, but not me?"  

He didn't bother to disguise the bitterness in his voice; let her feel his pain.  It was about time she acknowledged her hold over him, and the damage it could cause.

"I needed him."  It was, at least to her, an obvious answer.

Riley laughed sharply.  "Well that pretty much says it, doesn't it?  I suppose you told Angel too?"

"Not then," she admitted softly.  "When he came back, after Mom died...that's when I told him."

That one hurt, even more than finding out he still ranked behind her friends.  Angel had been there for her when he couldn't be.  When Riley had left to save himself, Angel swept in to save Buffy.  Had she called him, or had he somehow just known?  And which was worse?

"So he came back here after your mom died?" Riley forced himself to ask coolly.  "Yet more I've missed. I suppose you've been in touch with him the whole time, haven't you?"  He shook his head.  "Good old Angel, stepping into the breach whenever any of Buffy's relationships go south.  Never mind that he's the reason they crash and burn in the first place."

"He is not the reason we ended," she protested, a warning edge in her voice.

"No, he's the reason we never began," he countered, choosing to ignore her danger signals.  "You won't let yourself feel anything for any other guy as long as he's around, because it's safer that way."  Riley leaned across the table and laid his hand over hers.  "Buffy, when are you going to stop living in the past?  He's history.  Literally.  I could be your future, if you'd only let me in."

"I tried, Riley." Her tone softened as she saw the real pain in his eyes.  "I did the best I could, but...but I guess wanting to do something isn't enough."

"The trouble is you didn't really want to," he countered.  "You prefer the image in your mind of your perfect, romantic Angel.  No guy could compete with that."

"I never asked you to compete.  I just wanted you to be with me, but that was obviously too much to ask for."  She pulled her hand away, almost knocking her coffee cup over in her haste.

"Oh come on, Buffy; be straight with yourself for a change.  You measure every guy to him.  To a demon.  Was I just too normal to measure up?"    

"Don't go there, Riley," she warned.  "I'm trying to be adult about this and talk to you, the way you say we never did. So could you do me a favor and meet me halfway?  At least aim for late adolescence."

Riley's whole body stiffened, but he choked back the harsh retort that sprang to his mind.  The Slayer in Buffy fought back savagely when attacked, and he had no wish to become yet another casualty left by the wayside.  He was in this for the long haul.

"Okay, fine," he ground out.  "So it was just me; there was something I wasn't doing that made you shut me out from the very beginning.  So what was it?  Did I come on too strong?  Not strong enough?"

"No, that was never...there was no strength problem.  Really."

She winced when she heard her own words, and the inevitable reminder they brought to Riley.  

"Really...I mean Riley," she stammered, suddenly forced on the defensive.  "Riley, your approach was just fine.  Honest."

He put it aside; those months he'd spent in the jungle gave him plenty of time to deal with her physical prowess as compared to his, and it no longer bothered him.

Really.

"So it wasn't the intro," he said smoothly.  "Then I guess I flunked the hearts and flowers portion of the exam.  Wasn't I Suave-and-Romantic-Guy enough for you?"

"You were very romantic," she said helplessly.  "At least you tried to be, as much as the hellmouth would let you.  I liked that about you from the start."

Even when she was the angriest, in the first few days after he abandoned her, she could not deny Riley's romantic nature.  He had taken her on picnics, and swan boat rides, and kissed her on the top of the Ferris wheel.  He had given her silly gifts just to make her smile, and carried her books to class.

"Did I forget to laugh at your jokes?  Was I rude to your friends or your family?  Did I kick your non-existent dog?  If it wasn't Angel, then what was it that kept you from ever letting me up to the plate?"

"You keep on acting like I planned this," she snapped.  "I tried, or at least I thought I was trying.  And you were fine; there wasn't a single boyfriendly move you messed up...until you decided to be a vampire soda fountain."  She saw his mouth open, ready to protest, and hastily raised her hand.  "I know; this is about how I could have prevented all that if I'd made you feel needed.  Or maybe, just maybe, if you'd let me know you didn't feel needed."

"Look, we both made mistakes," he allowed, reasoning that there was no need to lose his advantage by being a poor loser.  "And I think we're both sorry for them, and we've learned some important things from them.  I want to move on from there, if you'll let me.  I think maybe we have a chance now, if we're always this honest with each other."

Buffy bit her lip, trying to find the words he spoke of, the honest ones.

Riley sensed her resolve was weakening and reached out for her hand again, giving it a gentle squeeze.  "You don't have to do this alone, Buffy.  I'm here, and I won't go anywhere unless you want me to."

She heard the comparison loud and clear, though he was gentleman enough not to complete the thought aloud.  Unlike Angel, Riley would not leave her for her own good.  Unlike Angel, Riley would not tear huge rents in her soul and expect her to fill them in with someone better than he.  

Riley could give her sunlight, and silly gifts, and sweep her off her feet with his devoted attentions.  He could make her smile, and care about her nail polish, and feel like a girl again, all with a few flirtatious glances from his baby blues.  Looking into those same eyes tonight, she suddenly realized that when he left, she had missed all of that so much more than she had actually missed him.

She'd been looking for a chance at love without pain, and she'd found it.  And then she found it wanting.

"Riley, I'm really glad you came back," she said slowly, forming her thoughts only instants before she gave them breath.  "I think I needed to talk to you to finally put some things to rest.  Things like where we went wrong, and where I went wrong."  

Buffy gently pulled her hand away from his, this time for good.  

"You were right; I was living in the past.  But not the past you thought I was in."  She leaned back in her chair and sighed.  "I was living the life I used to have, before I became the Slayer.  Before I met Angel and I discovered how much love can hurt."

"It doesn't have to hurt," he said softly, forcing back the fear that it was hopeless.  Ignoring the voice that said she was already gone, if she had even really been here to begin with.

"Yeah, actually it does sometimes," she told him, looking deep into his innocent blue eyes.  After all the evil he had faced, he was still a child in so many ways.  "It's not the part of the deal I like, but I guess you don't get anything worth having without paying for it.  Except I tried to...when I met you."  

Buffy paused for a moment to regroup; it was harder than she'd thought, trying to face the past she'd buried with such resolution.  

"I wanted...I wanted to be 'in love' the way I used to believe it ran.  You know, heart-shaped boxes of candy on Valentine's Day and you giving me your umbrella if I forgot mine.  But that's just the surface stuff, the stuff you tell your girlfriends about to make them jealous.  The real stuff is too special...and sometimes just too painful...to talk about."

"You've got it all wrong, Buffy.  God, you've taken enough psych by now to realize that the love equals pain theory is a first class ticket to an abusive relationship.  Is that what you really want for yourself?"

"I want...I want to feel again.  I'm scared of it, so scared it makes me sick," she confided.  Riley wanted honesty, and like it or not, he was going to get it. "I loved my mom so much, and now she's gone and I can't make the hurt go away.  And Dawn; she means the world to me, and Glory is getting closer and closer to finding her, and if she does I might lose her too.  And Angel is so far away, and he has problems of his own, and it's not like anything has changed between us...but that's the point.  The feelings between us haven't changed anymore than the situation.  And I suddenly realized I'm glad about that."  

"You're crazy," Riley said flatly.  "You can't have a relationship; you know that and so does he."

"But we already have one."  She smiled wistfully.  "It's not all that it could be, or what I want it to be, right now, but it does exist.  I love him, and he loves me.  Through the worst of it, we've always loved each other."

"And you think that's enough to solve the problems between you?  We both know you need things that he can never give you."  He looked away, uncomfortable with what he knew he had to say.  "I may not know the inner workings of your mind, but I spent enough time in your bed to realize sex is important to you."

"Says the man who needed to donate blood to get a...never mind."  

She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, but refrained from giving way to the anger brewing inside of her.  Riley had known her body, known it very well, but he had never known her heart.  And no matter what he had felt while they were having sex, it could not compare to what she had known with Angel that one perfect night, when love was given and received in full measure.  There was no way Riley could understand.

"Riley," she tried again, "I'm not denying that I...enjoyed...the physical part of our relationship; I did.  And I liked being, well, 'courted' is the word you used once, I think.  It was really nice for a change.  No high drama, no life-or-death decisions; just plain old-fashioned Barbie and Ken go to the Homecoming game.  It was a nice escape from the daily Slayer grind."

"So now I'm a Ken doll.  Swell."

Buffy growled in frustration.  She was trying to be tactful, trying to thank him in a way, and he chose to take it as an insult.

"I'm not saying this right, but I don't know how to make you understand.  I've done a lot of growing up the past two years, especially the last few months.  The me who started at Sunnydale U wanted to be Carrie Coed...but I guess I'm closer to plain old Carrie."  The corner of her mouth twisted upward in a half-smile.  "I'm never going to be the girl you want me to be."

"How do you know who I want you to be, or need you to be?  You're just putting up barriers so you won't have to deal with reality, Buffy."  But he could help her deal; he knew he could help.

"No, you were my barrier against reality, Riley.  That's why I have to let you go."

* * * * *

Riley was quiet on the walk back to Buffy's house.  She had hoped to avoid the inevitably tense situation by going home alone, but he insisted.  Slayer or no Slayer, girlfriend or not, he was the man and he would walk her home.  

It was a part of his homespun Iowa "charm" she had once thought kind of sweet, but now found stifling.  Yet another thing not to be missed, and wasn't it embarrassing to admit to herself how many of them there were.  Who exactly was the Buffy who'd been running her body all these months, and where did the real Buffy go to get a refund for that lost time? 

Finally the interminable, and silent, walk came to an end on her front porch.  They both paused on the doorstep, neither sure of how to say the final words.

"I'm back for a few weeks, you know, if you need any help," he offered.  "Just stop by Donnelly House; if I'm not there one of the guys will get the message to me."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," she said quietly, meeting his gaze without flinching.  If he was expecting a sudden change of heart, she wanted to make it clear he was hoping in vain.    

"I hope you know that I'm always here for you."  Riley suddenly looked uncomfortable.  "I mean I know I wasn't before, but I am now.  And if that has to be as your friend...I'm willing to go back to that if you are."

She cocked her head to the side, considering his words.  

"I'm not sure we really were friends, Riley," she said at last.  "I'm not saying I don't want to be, but I think that's a 'going forward' kind of thing, not back.  I mean, everything happened so fast, I don't think we took the time to be friends first."

"It kind of swept us away," he agreed with a small smile.

"You're talking waves rushing back out to sea," Buffy awkwardly corrected him. "I'm thinking more of the broom Xander bought Willow as a gag gift.  I wanted so badly to make the pain go away, and I thought the best way to do that was to get right back up on that horse and...and suddenly not liking the sexual undertones of this metaphor," she confessed with a blush.  "Let me try again."

"It's okay; I get it."  Riley's tone was uncharacteristically sharp as he silenced her, but he had no regrets; even Prince Charming would have a tough time being gracious as he listened to the love of his life relegating him to Step 13 on her road to recovery.  "I don't agree, but I get it."

"I'm not trying to hurt you; I just want us to be clear.  We've already tried to have a relationship based on misunderstandings and mixed signals."  She forced a pained smile.  "Funny thing, though; it didn't work."

"I can't argue with that."

Buffy was silent for a moment, and then stepped a fraction closer to him. "I'm sorry for that, in case I didn't say so before."

Short sentences seemed to serve Riley best right now, preserving both his anger and his pride.  If he lost the first, he would surely throw away the second.

"You didn't."   

"Well, I'm sorry for my part anyway," she answered defensively.  "I didn't force you to go bungee blood-letting; that was your own brilliant idea."

That one stung him.  As though she still didn't know it had all been for her. 

"I just wanted to know..."

"Yeah, I know; you wanted to know what the fascination was for me," she interrupted him briskly.  "I didn't buy it then, and it's not selling any better in the suburbs tonight.  Come on, Riley; you're the big psych major.  You were acting out, to get attention.  Because even negative attention is better than none."

"Which, you admit, is basically what I got," he flared.

Buffy sighed; so much for a quick and graceful exit.  She settled herself on the porch steps and patted the space next to her. 

"Sit."

He sat down, trying not to crowd her.  She was talking to him, for the first time in months.  Maybe for the first time ever.  He wasn't going to blow it now.

"You're not the only one who has been doing a lot of thinking since we broke up," she began slowly.  "And it hasn't exactly been a pretty sight on this end either.  You were right when you said I didn't give us a fair chance, and I'm sorry for that.  But you know, you could have said something sooner; you didn't have to hire vamps to suck your blood just to make me see you.  It was stupid, and risky and selfish."

"Selfish?  How the hell do you figure that?"

"Wasn't there a little portion of your brain that was gloating about how guilty I'd feel if you got yourself killed?  You know, since you were only doing it 'to understand me better.'  Tell me that thought didn't cross your mind."

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, challenging him to be as honest with her as he claimed he wanted her to be.

"I never thought that, Buffy," he protested.

She said nothing, only arched a delicate eyebrow.

"Okay, okay.  Maybe just a little, tiny bit," he capitulated.  "But that wasn't the main reason.  I really did want to understand you."  He clenched the wood beneath him with tight hands as he stretched out his legs down the length of the steps.  Anger was fading, but the bitterness that was replacing it clawed at him more fiercely with visions of what might have been...if only.  

It seemed, however, that only vampires with souls got the benefits of an "if only."

"Unfortunately, what I came to understand was that you weren't about to let me in, no matter what I did.  You trusted your friends, and Giles, and even Angel.  But you never trusted me that way, not with what you were feeling."

"I never intended to shut you out, Riley; it just...happened.  I don't trust a lot of people, and even those I do, I don't always trust with everything.  You can ask the gang; I've kept some major secrets from them."  A vision of Angel in the early days after his return from hell sprang to mind as an example, but she doubted Riley would appreciate it.  "Most of the time I get up the nerve eventually, but sometimes I don't say a peep until I'm forced into it."

"Except to Angel, of course," Riley commented bitterly.

She shrugged her shoulders; if he wanted to bring Angel into this too, so be it.

"It doesn't do much good to hide things from him; he always knows when I'm lying, and he won't let me keep anything secret if he thinks the keeping will hurt more than the telling."

"Because he knows you so well."

"Yeah, he does, because we're alike in a lot of ways.  I can't help that, Riley.  I can't help my feelings for him either, and God knows I tried."  She clasped her hands together and wrapped them around her knees.  "I guess where I screwed up was letting us both think that I could."

He looked at her long and hard, watching the way the fickle moon painted her face in silvery lights and sable shadows.  He had fallen in love with her the first time he saw her, so small and cute and fluttery.  Later, when he discovered the steel at her core, he had thought himself even more fortunate.  She could be sweet and shy with him, even as she was beating a demon senseless with her bare hands.  She was the most exotic creature he had ever met, and for a little while he believed she belonged to him.

"This is really it, isn't it?" he asked bleakly.  "Even with what you said before...I thought if you were still mad at me, then I still mattered.  At least enough to rate a second chance someday in the future."

Someday in the future, when it dawned on her that Angel's absence was permanent, and she was the better for it.  He'd clung to the belief that day would come, but he couldn't hold on any longer.

Buffy got to her feet, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder as she looked down at his fair head.

"You do matter, Riley," she said gently.  "But not in that way, not to me.  I'm sorry."

He laughed harshly.  "Me too.  Gee, maybe if I'd let one of those vampires turn me..."

"Oh yeah, that would have solved everything," she scoffed.  "Cause the world so needs another undead grad student with a gun."

"It wasn't the world I wanted to need me, and it's pretty obvious you never did.  If you had...maybe then you would still be mad."

"I was, a long time ago.  And if you had stayed so we could have fought about it some more, I probably would've stayed mad longer," she admitted.  "But you left me with no one to fight but myself...and I had other things that needed doing more."  She shrugged as she took a backwards steps towards the door.  "I'm sorry if you were hoping for flying objects as proof of my enduring affection.  Slayer or not, I'm fresh out of fight tonight."

Another step towards the door, her hand poised to turn the knob.

"I really have to go, Riley.  I, uh, kind of have a phone call to make."

"To Angel, right?"

"Good night, Riley."

And with that, she was gone, leaving Riley Finn more alone than he had ever felt before.

* * * * *

Buffy stared at the white phone resting on her bed, just inches away from her outstretched hand.  She'd been staring at it for ten minutes now, ever since she closed her door and sat down on the bed, but she had been unable to do more than pick it up off of the nightstand and lay it down next to her knee.

She tried to tell herself that she was waiting for the line to be free, but since Dawn was in bed and her friends had finally all gone home, it wasn't a very convincing story.  So she tried to tell herself that Angel might be in bed already, but that made even less sense.

She almost won herself over with the idea that now was not the right time to be thinking of herself; Glory was an ever-present threat and Dawn must be her first concern.  But Angel gave her strength; he didn't drain it as Riley had inadvertently done with his insecurities and his neediness.  If anything, blending her life with Angel's would help her deal with Glory, not to mention Dawn.

She was left with one inescapable conclusion:  she, the baddest, if not the biggest, of all the Slayers, was scared to death of making a phone call.  

She knew Angel still loved her; if she had ever doubted it his words and actions after Joyce's funeral put those fears to rest.  And she knew her love for him was as strong, if not stronger, than it had ever been.  

What frightened her was not a lack of love, but an abundance of it.  After all these months, now turned to years, of floating along on the surface of love, was she strong enough to plumb its depths again?  And what about Angel, whose love was so encompassing he felt her safer without it than with it; was he finally ready to let her decide about her own future?  

And if he was ready, did that mean he loved her more or less than before, when no choice was offered?

Too many questions, too many fears, stilled her hand just inches from the instrument that could provide the answers.  The minutes ticked away, every one inserting more space between Buffy and her heart's desire, but she couldn't force her hand to move.

Until she heard a sound drift up from her front porch.

She was off the bed in an instant, personal concerns firmly put aside until her slayer senses could determine the nature and extent of the danger.  A glance out of the window initially revealed nothing, until a quick movement beneath the old sycamore tree next to her porch caught her eye.  It was the same tree she had used as her preferred exit until her mother knew the truth about her nighttime world.  The same tree Angel had climbed up so many times to reach her bedroom window, back when life was much more easily-defined.  

For one brief shining moment, she thought it was Angel standing at the base of the tree, waiting for her to come down.  Then the moon slipped out from behind a cloud and shone on a golden head resting against the trunk.

Riley.  Still here, still hoping.  

Buffy choked down a bitter laugh as she ducked behind the curtains to keep him from seeing her.  Here was good old Riley hanging in there even when she told him not to, and somewhere in LA Angel was roaming the night without her, when all she wanted was to be by his side.

The phone was still lying mutely on her bed.  A few quick steps took her back to it, and this time her fingers did not hesitate to punch in the numbers that would reconnect her to her world.  She had done her best tonight to send Riley off on his own path, and now it was time to do as much for herself.

* * * * *

To Be Continued 


	2. Chapter 2

Epiphanies For Sale Part 2 By Gem 

The phone let out a final, shrill chirp as Angel pushed open the heavy glass doors of the Hyperion Hotel.

He'd heard the phone ringing as he drove up; vampire hearing was useful for such things.  Or at least it was useful if you had any reason to expect phone calls.  Any reason to look forward to them.  Any reason to run for them.  That pretty much left Angel out in the cold.

Again.

He sighed as he threw his coat over the checkout counter.  It had, not surprisingly, been a long and lonely night.  Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn were slowly coming around, but only with great reluctance.  Every time one of them slipped and treated him as one of the gang again, it was followed by an immediate and chilling withdrawal.  One step forward and two steps back.

Though his last caller had obviously hung up before leaving a message, Angel checked the answering machine from force of habit as he walked around behind the counter.  He really wasn't in the mood for battling still more evil this night; one fire-breathing, sewer-dwelling demon was usually enough to call it a day.  But ever since Kate's fateful call on the night they both tried to escape their respective worlds, he had held that little black machine in high regard.  Each blink of that red light was a potential beacon to illuminate his destiny.  

Or possibly a telemarketer...but he was willing to take his chances.

The light blinked once in the dimly lit hotel lobby, signifying one person (or demon) who had cared to leave a message.  Expecting nothing more than a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the timeshare of his choice, Angel pushed the "PLAY" button.

"Angel, hi.  It's me."

He stopped dead in his tracks and spun around, staring at the little machine that captured and preserved his beloved's voice.  Preserved it because he hadn't been here himself.  Because he had been too busy trying to fulfill his destiny instead of living his dream.  With a groan, Angel threw himself into the chair behind the counter to listen to the message he should have received in person.

"Are you there?" Buffy's voice continued, a little more hesitantly now.  "If you are...could you pick up?  Please."  A brief moment of silence, and then her voice called out to him once more.

"I guess you're not there."

Angel growled in frustration at the lost-child timber in her voice.

"I just wanted...I wanted to talk with you about something...but I guess I should just leave a message.  I mean I am leaving a message." A little laugh escaped her.  "But you know what I mean.  Something like, 'I'm in for the night; call me.'  Or, 'Hey, long time no talk.  Let's fix that.'  Something nice and simple."  

Angel could almost feel her breath rush across his face, so heavy was the sigh that followed her words.

"Except we never did simple, did we, so why start now?  Maybe...maybe it will be easier this way."

He felt his gut clench in dread.

"I was talking to umm, someone, tonight, and it made me think of you.  Okay, so most things make me think of you these days."  She chuckled softly.  "Who am I kidding?  Most things always did.  Anyway, I, umm, was thinking about you...and about me...about us sort of being an us and yet sort of not and, well, I decided I'm against it.  Not being an us, I mean.  Am I making any sense?"

She had paused, as though she had expected him to reply.  Angel got to his feet and hesitantly approached the machine.

"You know what?" she said finally.  "This is silly, me telling your machine all this stuff that I should be saying to you.  I mean, Cordy is probably going to be the first one back and she'll play this message and spend the rest of the night telling you in great detail why you should just leave needy little Buffy needing.  Could you just call me?  Please?  I'd really like to talk to you."

There was an audible click when she disconnected the call, just as Angel's pale hand reached out to touch the receiver.

She was gone.

* * * * *

His long fingers lingered on the machine, trying to absorb some sense of the vibrant personality behind those recorded words.  She had called him, called out to him really, and he had failed her.  Now she was waiting for him to reach out to her in return...and he was so very afraid.

When her mother died, he didn't choose to go see her; he just did.  There was no reasoning behind it, no conscious thought at all beyond the timing of sunset.  She needed him and he had to be there for her.  

But tonight was different; he could hear it in her voice.  It was the tone he used to hear when they had a fight and she wanted to make up but didn't know how to make the first move.  Angel knew in his soul that tonight's call sprang not from sudden need, but the plain old everyday kind of loneliness they both struggled with.  The constant ache of being apart and forging new lives with only half a heart and soul still present.  He also knew calling her back wouldn't solve anything, not unless he was prepared to make some changes.  

And that was where he hit the wall.

There was nothing more he wanted in the world than to be a part of Buffy's life; it was all he had wanted since the first day he saw her.  But the situation, the problems that existed between them, had not changed with time.  If anything, the time apart must make the problems stand out more sharply against the "normal" life she had been trying to build these past two years.  He had walked away to give her a chance at that life; he had even given up his own life to prolong it.  If he called her back tonight, after that phone call, it could undo all that he had worked so hard to secure for her.

And if he didn't call her back, it would destroy every bit of trust she'd ever had in him, or in love in general.

Angel picked up the receiver, berating himself for hesitating.  He had to call her back; he had no choice.  But there were other things he also didn't get to choose.  For Buffy's sake he couldn't let this call sound like it would change things; he would stay strong if it killed him.  Friends were all they could ever be; as lovers they were over.  They had to be over.    

He told himself that over and over as he dialed her number from memory, but the words flew right out of his head when he heard her sleepy voice at the other end of the line.  

* * * * *

"Angel?"

_'She sounds tired,'_ was his instant thought.  A moment later he forced himself to relax and break out of worry-mode.  Of course she was tired; she had left the message hours ago and probably fallen asleep waiting for him to call back.

'Deep breath, Angel,' he told himself.  'Even if you don't need it...you need it.'

"Buffy, yeah, it's me."  He tried to sound casual.  "I hope...I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Umm, actually...kind of.  But it's okay," she quickly reassured him.  "I was hoping you'd call tonight.  I just got a little tired while I was waiting so I stretched out and then I guess I conked out.  You know me and post-slayage naps."

She laughed self-consciously as Angel suppressed a groan.  How was he supposed to focus on the impossibility of a future together when she reminded him of some of the sweetest moments of their shared past?  He remembered all too well those naps after patrol, when she curled up so warmly against him, her golden head tucked under his chin and her soft breath blowing across his skin...

"Angel?  Are you still there?"

He came back to the present with a start, realizing his silence had worried her.

"Yes, I'm still here," he said, unconsciously lowering his voice to the husky intimate tones she once told him sent shivers right down to her...he cleared his throat in a panic and tried again.  "Sorry, I just...drifted for a minute.  I'm back."

"Are you okay?"  The worry in her voice said she was still far from satisfied with his answer.  "You sound so...I don't know...sad."

Angel laughed softly; only Buffy would worry about whether he sounded happy or not.  To the others it was much more clear-cut these days:  evil or not evil.  Happiness had nothing to do with it.

"I'm fine, Buffy," he insisted.  "I just finished up work for the night and I guess I haven't quite come back to real time yet."

"Still in the zone, huh?"

"Something like that," Angel agreed with a smile.  

She sounded more relaxed now, he noted with relief, definitely more herself.  He could envision her scooching up on the bed, leaning against her plethora of pillows, twisting the blankets between her fingers while she talked.  She was settling in for a good long chat, and so should he.

"Angel, I'm glad you called..."

"Me too."  He threw himself backwards onto the sofa, reaching behind his head for a cushion to put beneath his head.

"But while I was waiting I realized that I don't want to do this over the phone," she continued reluctantly.

Angel sat up abruptly, the pillow in his hand suddenly skimming across the top of the coffee table and directly into a full glass of water.  The glass shattered when it hit the tile floor, creating a sparkling pool of water mixed with jagged crystal shards creeping back towards the Oriental wool rug under the table.

Angel had eyes only for the black receiver in his hand.

"Do what?" he asked quickly, fear roughening his voice before he could regain control of it.

"I want...I need to talk to you.  Really talk.  Heart-to-heart sewer sort of talk," she explained.  She spoke slowly, as though each word was being individually wrung from her memory.  "I thought we could just talk over the phone and that would fix everything...but I need to see you.  This is just too...unreal...all this faceless communication."

"Sorry, my, uh, vid-phone isn't working today," he mumbled in a feeble attempt at a joke, as his mind feverishly processed her comment.  Exactly which sewer talk she was referring to?  Could she know?  Could she have somehow remembered, and now she wanted to confront him?  

Or was that just shorthand for good-bye, in a language he had created?  

"Lucky you," she admitted.  "I'm a pretty scary sight right now.  But I could, umm, take some of the 'boo' out of this fright wig I call my hair by the time you got here.  If you could, umm, come here."

The tentative tone in her voice confused him.   She didn't sound angry, or distant.  She sounded, once again, the way she had on the answering machine.  But if she was looking to mend fences, why couldn't the first moves be made over the phone?

And why was he still unable to understand women after over two-and-a-half centuries of practice?

Angel ran his hand through the dark spikes of his hair as he sifted through the mechanics of a sudden trip to Sunnydale.

"Buffy, it's not that I don't want to come there," he began reluctantly, "but it's daylight now...or almost.  Can't you just give me a hint now and, you know, save the rest for a few hours after sundown?"

"Oh, the sun.  I kind of forgot about that."

She sounded deflated, but not so much as Angel felt.  Of course she hadn't factored in the sun; she was used to human boyfriends who could travel at any time.  He was the freakish exception in her orderly world.

"I've been patrolling so much lately I kind of forgot it even existed," she continued, unaware of Angel's silent self-recriminations at the other end of the line.  "I'm out all night keeping an eye out for Glory and her creepy little minions and, well, grocery shopping and stuff."

He could almost see the embarrassed flush steal across her cheeks.  Buffy the Coupon Clipper; not exactly her usual image.

"I sleep during the day when Dawn is at school," she admitted softly.  "I don't even know what sunlight looks like anymore.  I guess I forgot I'm not the only one who's a night person."

"Come to LA," he heard himself saying, the words leaving his mouth the instant the idea was born.

"What?"

"Come to LA," he repeated, sounding more confident this time.  This could work; he could make it work.  "You're exhausted from looking out for Dawn all on your own, I know you must be stressed out from all the details of taking over the house and selling your mom's gallery, and it doesn't sound like you even have much time for school anymore.  So come here for a few days...or a few weeks," he added quickly.  "Whatever.  I can't worry for you, but I can worry with you."

"But what about Dawn?" she challenged him.  "I can't just leave her here with Glory on the loose.  And I can't leave her behind; I just got back from a trip with Giles and with Mom gone now I can't keep going away..."

"Bring her with you," he said recklessly.  "Bring Dawn, bring Giles, bring Willow...hell, bring Xander if you want.  I own a hotel."  He waved at the upper gallery, as though she was standing beside him to see the gesture.  "I have the room."

There was a silence on the other end of the phone.

"Buffy," he said, "it's...it's okay if you don't want to."  He suddenly regretted his impulsive words.  She didn't need him managing her world anymore; she really never did.  In his eagerness to help her, he had overstepped his bounds and it was no wonder she was having trouble telling him...

"Angel, it's not that," she said, breaking into his internal flagellation yet again.  "Dawn has school.  I mean I have school too, but it's not...well, you said it yourself: I'm not going much these days.  I'm actually thinking about, umm, dropping out.  Just for a semester or so," she added hastily.  "But Dawn doesn't have that option.  Her teachers get a little freaked if she's not in her seat when the bell rings, and I can't afford to get the scholastic PTBs freaked right now."

He didn't even feel the quick sigh of relief filter through his dead lungs; he was too busy trying to rework his plan.

"Can't you tell them you're taking her to see your dad?  She just lost her mother...I mean your mother.  Wouldn't the school understand that she needs a little family time?"

"But this would be time for me," she pointed out delicately.

"And the problem with that would be?"  He didn't give her time to formulate an answer.  "Buffy, you need...something.  I'm not even sure what, since you won't tell me.  But if I'm a part of it...please come here and let me help.  Please."

He waited silently for her answer, fighting back the voice in his head that said this was a bad idea.  He knew it was wrong to offer himself as some sort of savior to her when he was barely back from the edge himself, and the thought of Cordelia in her current mood mixing with Buffy in her fragile state...he shuddered at the image.  

But no matter how many ways he tried to disguise it, this was the redemption he was truly seeking.  He wanted to make amends to his victims, and he wanted to count for something in this world...because of Buffy.  Because she made him want to be so much more than he ever thought he could be.  And now maybe he could give some of that back to her, if she would let him.

If she would let him have that second chance.

"I need to call the school," she said slowly.  "And tell Giles and the others.  I'm not sure if they'll want to come or not...but maybe they should.  Glory is getting too close.  She kidnapped Tara tonight...that is last night.  We got her back okay, but I couldn't face Willow if anything happened to Tara because of me."

"Baby, it's not your fault."  Angel could hear the guilt in her voice; it was an old companion of his and he knew it all too well.  "They're with you because they want to be.  Because they love you and they believe in what you fight for.  It's their choice."

"And if they choose not to be with me?" she asked tightly.  "Does that mean they don't love...never mind.  Forget I even...it was stupid; I know that."

Angel winced, trying to block the inadvertent image of pain in Buffy's hazel eyes that came to him as she posed the question.  He suddenly envied Cordelia's visions, where only nameless strangers suffered.  

"Buffy, please just come to LA," he begged.  "You and I don't always get a choice in life...but I think this time we can sneak one past the censors."

There was an audible sniffle from the other end of the line.

"Promise?"

Angel tightened his grip on the receiver as he opened his eyes and looked around the room.  He sat alone in a grandiose Art Deco hotel lobby, like one relic from another time left abandoned in another.  Buffy had no place in this long-gone world; she was the future.

But no matter how hard he tried to fight it, no matter what he thought was best for her, she was his future.

"Promise," he answered hoarsely.  

* * * * *

Buffy clung to the phone in her hand long after Angel said good-bye, unwilling to break the tenuous connection.  He wanted her to come to him; instead of distancing himself he was actually inviting her into his new life.  She could hardly believe it.

All right, so she had initiated the invitation in a way by calling him; that didn't make it feel any less miraculous.  And once she and Angel could set things right between them, everything else would fall into place.  She wasn't quite sure how, but she knew things began to fall apart when he left and she'd never been able to put it all right again since.  Now though, together, they could fix everything:  Dawn, Glory, school, the mounting bills, the lack of meaning in her life...all of it.

And all because of this wonderful, beautiful telephone.

A light tap on her door finally broke her concentration and she set the phone down on the nightstand as she called out, "Come in."

Dawn's head poked around the edge of the partially open door, her brown hair still rumpled from her pillow and her eyes blinking in the light beginning to stream through Buffy's window.

"Did I hear the phone ring a little while ago?" the younger girl asked.  "Is everyone okay?"

Buffy could hear the thinly disguised panic in her sister's voice; Joyce's death had robbed Dawn of a child's illusion of a safe and orderly world.  People died in Dawn's world now, good people who should have lived to grow old.  Every phone call, every unexpected presence at the door could mean potential disaster.

"Dawn, it's fine; no one's hurt." Buffy threw back her covers and hurried over to the door, drawing the girl into the room and over to the bed.  "It was Angel, calling me back.  I'm sorry it woke you."  

The Slayer gently pushed her sister onto the foot of the bed and sat down beside her, wrapping a sheltering arm around the younger girl.  Dawn leaned into the embrace, resting her head on Buffy's shoulder.

"Angel called?" she asked curiously, smothering a yawn with her hand.  "But I thought you and Riley were making up last night.  Didn't he stay?"

"Uh no."  

Buffy couldn't hold back a chuckle as she shook her head; she had a feeling that Riley had intended something very much like Dawn guessed, and he had been quite surprised to have his plans thwarted.  

"Nope, Riley is gone for good this time, and with my blessing.  We talked and we...well, we agreed not to make up."

It wasn't quite the truth, but it was as far as Buffy was willing to go.  Even Slayers, whose lives belonged to the world, deserved a little bit of privacy now and then.  

"So you and Angel made up instead?  But I thought you guys couldn't...you know...the big couldn't?"  

Dawn turned bright red as she tried to come up with a way to ask her question without being forced to imagine the action.  With Riley she could just say 'sex,' because Buffy never seemed to have much of a hang-up about it with him.  But Angel...Dawn could still remember all the conversations with Willow that she had interrupted, the ones where Buffy was trying to describe what she and Angel could do, or had done.  No matter how hard she tried, Buffy could never seem to find the right words.  Things always seemed to be so much more complicated with Angel.

"We...well we still can't," Buffy stammered, blushing almost as much as Dawn.  "But that's not important."  She gritted her teeth, recalling Riley's words last night.  "It's not, no matter what some people think.  Anyway, I don't know if we're actually technically getting back together.  But I needed to talk with him about some things last night, and he wasn't home so I left a message, and then by the time he called back I realized...umm, how would you feel about going to LA for a few weeks?  Days." she corrected herself hastily.  "Or maybe weeks.  I don't...I'm not sure yet.  So, how would you feel?"

"But I have school.  And you have school.  And there's this whole big Glory thing which...well, I guess that part of it would be kind of cool to leave behind," Dawn admitted.  "But what about the others?  What about Xander?  And Tara and Willow?  And Giles; doesn't he need you here to keep things quiet on the home front?"

"They can come with us," Buffy answered brightly.  She gave Dawn's shoulders a quick squeeze and got to her feet, ready for the next step.  "Angel owns a hotel now, so he has lots of room.  And he has lots of weapons too, so we'll be well armed.  And I can train with him, so I'll be in top form when we figure out how to take Glory down."

"That sounds good," Dawn said doubtfully, a small frown creasing her brow.  "But what about Spike?  He can help you train here, but I don't think Angel will like it if we bring him along."

"Spike is a big boy; he can take care of himself," Buffy answered swiftly.  

"But he helps us," Dawn protested.  "And you know he only does it because he lov..."

Dawn was prevented from finishing her argument by a small tanned hand firmly applied to her mouth.

"We don't use the "L" word when mentioning Spike," the Slayer said, exhibiting what she thought was remarkable calm, given the provocation.  "You're confusing one four-letter-word with another; a chip doesn't equal a soul, and without that he's just a temporarily disabled bad guy.  Love is...he's not capable of it, Dawnie."

Dawn pushed Buffy's hand away and stuck out her tongue at her sister.

"He's a temporarily homicidally-challenged guy," the teen grumbled.  "If you're going to insult him, at least be polite about it."

Buffy cocked her head and stared in disbelief at the younger girl.  "Do you even know how dumb that...never mind."  

She drew a deep breath as she ran unsteady hands through her hair.  Her mother had always said parenting was all about picking battles...or at least that what it sounded like Joyce had been muttering under her breath.  Buffy resolved to have a nice long talk with Dawn later, to straighten out any lingering misconceptions about vampires and love.  Or maybe she should ask Angel to do it; he could explain vampires better than anyone, even Giles.  

Of course this was assuming she let Angel out of her sight long enough to say more than a quick hello to anyone for the next few days.

Hmm, maybe Giles would be a better choice after all, she mused, a small smile teasing at the corners of her mouth.

"Buffy?  Earth to Buffy."

Buffy came back to that earth with a jolt as Dawn's waving fingertips brushed her nose.

"Glory already tried to get information out of Spike," the Slayer answered calmly.  "She couldn't do it...and I can't see even Glory being crazy enough to subject herself to Spike twice unless there was something in it for her.  I don't really think she'll bother him again, if he even decides to stay in Sunnydale after we're gone."

"After you're gone, you mean."

"Whatever.  The point is, he's not my problem.  You...well, you're not a problem of course, but you're the one I need to think about."  Buffy moved around to the foot of her bed and opened up her Slayer trunk, pulling out the weapons she no longer needed to hide under the false bottom.  "I want you to be safe and I think you will be in LA."

"So we're going for me?"

Buffy stopped counting stakes long enough to look up at Dawn.  "Yes.  For you...and for me."  She laid the stakes on the bed and dove in for her favorite knife, hoping to hide her face in the depths of the trunk.

"Because you miss Angel again now that Riley's gone?"

Buffy stiffened and slowly withdrew from her hiding place.  "I always missed him, Dawnie."

"But you never said anything about it. You've hardly mentioned him at all since he left."

Buffy pushed down the lump that rose in her throat as she tried to answer Dawn's question the best way she knew how.

"How often do we talk about Mom?"

"Oh."

Dawn's face fell, swiftly pulling Buffy to her feet and sending her to her younger sister's side.  She held the girl close, one hand stroking Dawn's long, sleep-tumbled hair as she soothed her.

"Shh; I'm sorry, sweetie.  I just meant that I missed him so much I couldn't talk about him...kind of like we both feel about Mom."  She pulled back; brushing away the single tear she saw sliding down Dawn's cheek.  "I tried not to miss him; I even pretended not to.  But I've always missed him.  And now...I'm tired of missing him, and tired of trying not to and tired of pretending I don't.  And I...I have this feeling.  This feeling that things are coming to a head."  

She saw the fear flare up in her sister's eyes and cursed herself for her careless words; Dawn was in no shape to deal with anyone's premonitions but her own.  

"It's not a Slayerly feeling or anything, and it may just be nothing," Buffy said quickly, shooting for maximum damage control.  "In fact it's probably just because of Mom."

"But Mom didn't like Angel," Dawn pointed out, honest to a fault, if not precisely tactful.

Buffy grimaced, trying to put the bad memories behind her.  She and her mother would never resolve their Angel differences now, and it was useless to speculate if they ever would have had Joyce lived the long life they all believed she would.

"That's not what I mean," Buffy answered with some difficulty.  "I just meant that Mom dying so suddenly...it reminded me of how time gets away from you.  And how things you always meant to do, you suddenly realize you've never done because you were always going to do them later, when you had the time.  I don't want things to be that way with Angel and I."

Recalled to her purpose, Buffy gave her sister one final hug and returned to her trunk.

"So we're going to LA."  

"Yes, we're going to LA."  Buffy beamed at her sister.  "You, me, and whoever else wants to tag along."  

"Except Glory," Dawn said quickly.

Buffy drew a sword from the depths of her trunk and held it up high, watching the way the early morning sun gleamed on the polished metal.

"You know, I'd almost like to see her try," the Slayer murmured speculatively.

* * * * *

"She's starting to make me angry, Merk.  Why won't she just cooperate?"

Glory stomped her new red leather shoe on the floor, shattering the 4-inch heel with the force of her rage.  The little monk by her side scuttled back a few paces to get out of range and pretended to deliberate the question.

"She is stubborn, your Gloryificence," he murmured, bowing low as he offered his humble opinion.  "Nothing but a stubborn child.  She has yet to see the wisdom, the eternal rightness of obeying the edicts of she who is..."

"Yeah, yeah," Glory interrupted him, waving a careless hand that caught the monk under the chin as he rose.  "I know Barbie the Vampire Slayer is stubborn, but the important thing is that I just...don't...care."

A stomp with the surviving heel signaled the end of yet another Italian designer's chance at immortality, and possibly mortality, as Glory eyed her ruined shoes with a sour expression.  She bent over and yanked them off her feet; hurling them into the fireplace with such vehemence that one bounced back out and hit Merk squarely on the forehead.

"She has my Key," Glory continued, oblivious to the monk's quiet moan of pain.  "Or at least she knows where it is.  She has no right to be stubborn about that.  It's not her Key."

"This is the essence of truth, your Gloryopulence."  Merk wiped the blood from his eyes and tried again to assuage his mistress's distress.  "The Key belongs to no one but she who..."

"Enough!"  The goddess slashed her hand in the air, narrowly missing the back of the little monk's neck as she stormed past him.  "All this fawning is suddenly giving me a headache.  I'm going to go lie down for a few minutes and then you can send me a few mortals to drain; that will make me feel better.  And later we'll pay little Miss Mule a visit and see if we can't teach her about the dangers of playing hide-and-seek with somebody else's toys."  

She took a few more steps towards her bedroom; the monk's tensed shoulders relaxed.   Then the rustle of silk in motion ceased from behind him, and he snapped back to attention.

"Gloryopulence?  Are you trying to say I'm getting fat?"

The little demon winced.

"Gloryscendency?" he offered timidly.

* * * * *

"So you want us all to pack up our stuff, walk out on our jobs and run to Angel for help?  And this would be a good idea in what universe?"

Xander leaned back against the counter and turned his head to address Giles, standing behind him at the cash register.

"Say I'm not the crazy one here, G-man," he begged.  "This just cannot be a doable plan."

"I didn't say you had to come, Xander; I said you could...and probably should."  Buffy started to pace again, as she had been doing almost non-stop from the moment she walked in the door of the Magic Box.  "Glory has already tried to brain-suck Tara; the fact that she didn't was mostly luck and good timing."

"And very poor leadership skills," Anya added.  "A truly efficient manager of any operation would have assigned the tasks to her underlings beforehand, to maximize their time and to..."  She sputtered off into momentary silence when she noticed Willow's glare.  "Well all I'm saying is that she had more than enough time and she still didn't get the job done.  She lacks managerial potential."

"You know how it is, An," Xander said. "Good help is so hard to find these days."

"Indeed," Giles murmured.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Anya flared.  "Are you trying one of your obscure British insults on me again because you think I don't understand what you're really trying to say?  Because let me tell you something; I was around when they invented that whole dry English wit mythos and after a few hundred years it starts to get a little moldy around the edges."

"Anya..." Giles began.

"Can we please get back to business?" Buffy hastily interjected.  "Dawn and I are leaving in about a half-hour; just as soon as the principal's office opens and I can call her in sick.  Oh and, umm, swing by Spike's crypt so Dawn can say good-bye."  She shrugged her shoulders; one battle lost but the war was far from over.  "Now I'm sorry I dragged you all in here at the crack of, well, dawn, to spring this on you...and I'm sorry I can't give you more time to prepare.  But I need to get to LA."  

She looked away, unable to meet their eyes as she edged around the truth.  Some things needed to remain private until more was settled...if anything could ever be settled, that is.  She and Angel weren't exactly "settling" sort of people.

"I mean there are things I need to do there and I need to do them now," was all she said aloud, continuing to herself _'before I lose my nerve.'_  

"So what you're saying is that you're going with or without us?" Willow asked.  Her mouth tightened in anger...until she felt Tara's hand on her arm and put herself in Buffy's place.

The Slayer nodded briskly.  "I think it would probably be safer with."

"She's right, you know."  Anya seemed as surprised as anyone at her comment, but she rallied quickly and continued to defend her position.  "Glory could come for any of us, trying to find out where Buffy went.  And without Buffy here to defend us...which of course we wouldn't need if she was here since we wouldn't know where she had gone because she wouldn't have gone..."

"Anya," Xander whined, "Six a.m.  No coffee shops open.  Please get to the point before my head explodes."

"We're sitting ducks.  Is that pointy enough for you, Xander?"

"Depends on the ducktail."  

"Buffy," Giles said, sparing only the briefest of glares for Xander, "it's not that we don't appreciate your situation...and, of course, your concern for Dawn.  But it is not so easy for most people to just pick up and walk away for a few weeks.  I can close up the shop...I will close up the shop.  I am your Watcher and my place is with you.  But Xander has a job; Willow and Tara have classes.  Dawn, most of all, has classes.  How long do you envision this strategic retreat lasting?"

Buffy had a sneaking suspicion the answer "forever" would not go over well with her Watcher.  Nor was it, she was forced to admit, exactly practical.  Giles was right; the world would go on whether she and Angel found their happily-ever-after or not, and sooner or later they would have to join in.

"I don't know exactly," she murmured, studying her chipped nail polish for the second time in the past 12 hours.  "I thought if we had a chance to regroup, maybe we could figure out a way to beat Glory.  All of us working together; just like the old days."

She saw Giles' raised eyebrow, and his inadvertent glance in Xander's direction.  Unhappily, she was forced to admit her Watcher was right in this as well; the old days had contained as much competition as cooperation, and Xander had been a chief source of the trouble.  Judging by the look on her friend's face, he might not be over the urge.

"What I want to know," Xander said slowly, "is where Riley fits into all this?"  He looked curiously at Buffy.  "I mean I know I'm not the big guy's favorite fella, so what must he think about having Riley as a houseguest?"

"He's not going to have Riley," Buffy answered evenly.  "The subject never even came up."

"But he's here, Buff.  And Glory knows he's one of us.  He could be in danger too."

"I'll...track him down," she said in frustration.  "Or I'll try to before we have to go.  I'll tell him we're all getting out of Dodge and he should too.  Alone.  Or at least not with us."  She looked sternly at Xander.  "Not with me."

"So, Riley comes looking for a second chance and you go running back to Angel.  Color me surprised."

"Enough, Xander," Buffy snapped.  "I hope you come with us, because even as annoying as you are right now, I don't want you to die.  But if you come you will be civil to Angel and you will lay off the 'yay Riley' riff...or I will tell Anya about your relationship with Cordelia in vivid...painful...detail.  And then I will lock you in a room with the two of them until there are only little bitty Xander pieces on the floor for them to step on.  Which they will, and you know it."

Xander glanced uneasily at Anya, who was hanging over the counter absorbing every word with a frighteningly avid expression.

"And that noise you hear would be my heart resuming beating," he said faintly.  "Which it will do very quietly, along with the rest of my body parts, for the next few days while we visit our good old pal Angel."

Buffy drew a deep breath and smiled in obvious satisfaction.

"That's the spirit, Xander.  One for all and all for..."

"Los Angeles," he concluded.

* * * * *

The maid tapped on the door, putting her ear to the wood to listen for sounds of life.  It was getting late and she wanted to finish with the rooms at this end of the hall before lunch.  This guest, however, was a notoriously late sleeper, and she didn't react well to being wakened. 

A muffled groan filtered through the door after the maid's next knock, leading to an inevitable, if unpleasant, conclusion.  The lazy beast was still in bed, and hotel rules forbade the housekeeping staff from forcing any guest out just to clean the room.  Hospitality was the name of the game, especially to those who didn't have to rearrange their own schedules to accommodate anyone.  The room would now have to be done after lunch...assuming the beast was ready to rise and shine before sundown today.

* * * * *

Inside the darkened room, Darla rolled over in the bed, bumping into the cold body lying next to her.  She grimaced as she took in the waxen skin and blank staring eyes; another body to dispose of...and in her delicate condition.  This was the final straw; from now on, she was swearing off take-out.  

Or maybe just staying in hotels; they always got so fussy about finding dead bodies in the rooms.  

She had thought he would make her feel better, if only for a little while; she had even toyed with the idea of turning him and keeping him around as a pretty plaything until her plans came to fruition.

Then she got her plaything into bed and discovered his...shortcomings.

She hadn't really expected him to be another Angelus; even with immortality on her side she couldn't expect one of those to pop up more than once.  There were, however, certain standards to be maintained and this pathetic specimen simply wasn't up to the job.

So, after a long day's nap, and a quick stop for dinner, she would have to make time to get rid of this useless husk of humanity before she could get to the fun part of the evening.

Darla ran her hand slowly over her abdomen, for once relishing the slight swelling she encountered.  This ridiculous business wouldn't go on for much longer, but she was going to take full advantage while she could.  

When life hands you a lemon, make someone else's day sour; that was Darla's motto.  She couldn't wait to see the look on the little cheerleader's face when she was confronted with proof of her true love's roving eye...and other body parts.

Some days the afterlife was just too good to be true.

* * * * *

To Be Continued 


	3. Chapter 3

Epiphanies For Sale Part 3 By Gem 

"And we're indulging our inner Felix because?  What's the matter, Angel; the lack of leather upholstery getting you down?"

Angel stared blankly at the sofa cushion in his hand.  A moment ago he'd been happily, if speedily, cleaning up the lobby in preparation for his guest...guests.  Then Cordelia had breezed through the glass doors and he froze like a guilty child with his hand in the cookie jar.  

Or, in his case, on the Dustbuster.

"It, uh, just seemed a little dusty; that's all."  

Angel quickly stuffed the cushion back into place, keeping his face carefully hidden from Cordelia as he steeled himself for the battle at hand.  He had to strike fast, and hard, and then get the hell out of here before she worked up a good head of steam.  Otherwise he might say some things he would regret.

"Yeah, well, it's always been a little dusty, but I've never seen you care before."  Cordelia sauntered through the lobby, her brown eyes fixed on Angel's averted head.  "Wait, no, I'm wrong.  You did care.  But said caring usually meant complaining to me about it, like because I'm the token girl I come complete with an anti-dirt hormone or something."

Angel straightened up and turned around to face her, his pride hurt by her accusation.  

"I never said you were supposed to do the cleaning up because you're the girl, Cordy.  But you have to admit, you're usually the one who makes the mess."  He started to say more, and then cut himself off with a frustrated wave of his hand.  "Look, this has nothing to do with whose turn it is to dust.  I'm expecting a guest.  Guests actually."

Given the atmosphere around the Hyperion lately, he was expecting an explosion, or at least a scowl; he got a puzzled frown instead. 

"So now we're going into the hotel business?"  One eyebrow arched in query.  "I mean I know this was a hotel and all, but don't you think all the demon traffic would be a little tough to explain to the guests?  Or were you planning on renting to demons exclusively?"

"I'm not renting out rooms," he said patiently.  "I said guests, not customers.  Buffy is coming here for a few days.  And Dawn," he added hastily.  "And maybe Giles and some of the others; I don't really know."

"Buffy," Cordelia said flatly.  

"Yes, Buffy.  And Dawn, and whoever else she wants to bring.  You said it yourself; this is a hotel.  We have the room."  He paused for a moment, debating the wisdom of his next argument, and then plunged ahead.  "No, make that: I have the room.  Wesley may run the business now, but this is still my home."

"So now you're going to kick us out again, because Buffy and her little friends are visiting?"  

Cordelia's voice was sharp, almost as sharp as the fear that flared back to life within her.  They were doing so well; it was almost like old times again.  They were this close to being one big happy family. 

Naturally, Angel just had to sabotage it.

"No, I don't want any of you to leave," Angel said soothingly.  He had heard the abandoned child beneath her acid tones, and it sent his guilty conscience into customary overdrive.  "We're all friends...more or less.  But I want Buffy to be comfortable here...I mean I want everybody to be comfortable.  So could you please go easy on her...them?"

"You mean like she will on me?"

"She's not here to fight, Cordy.  She's had a rough few months and she just needs a little break.  So does Dawn."

"And what about the rest of the BrainDead Trust?  Why is she packing an entourage?"  Cordelia lightly slapped her palm against her cheek.  "Oh, that's right; gosh, how could I have forgotten?  Spanky doesn't do anything without Our Gang, does she?"

"She's, umm, in some trouble," he answered vaguely. 

Best not to go into specifics about angry hellgods until the bags were unpacked and the houseguests firmly established. 

"And you know Buffy," he sped on, not giving Cordelia time to ask for specifics.  "She doesn't want to make the others do her job for her while she's away."    

Cordelia snorted.  "Since when?  Don't you remember the summer from hell that...oh, no...real hell...you probably don't."  

Somewhat abashed by her inadvertent reminder of the bad old days, she continued in a quieter tone.

"Angel, I just don't think that now is the right time to be bringing Buffy and the Lame-ettes into our little circle.  We're still trying to figure out the new ground rules.  Having Buffy around will just confuse things."  She threw up her hands, and threw out her tact.  "Strike that; she'll confuse you.  She'll get you all wrapped up in whatever problem she's having, and you won't be able to think about anything, or anyone, else."

Angel could hear the plea in her words, even if it was phrased more as a lecture, and he knew in a way she was right.  The peace between he and his friends was still very fragile, and the weight of Buffy's problems might be enough to break it.  But knowing this, and allowing it to change his mind, were two very different things.

"Cordelia, I'm sorry."  He was even sorrier when his quick apology brought a relieved smile to her face, a smile he knew his next words would wipe out like water on a flame.  "Buffy and the others should be here soon, so I'll understand if you want to leave now.  I hope you don't," he added quickly, "but it's your choice.  I've already made mine."

She scowled at him, correctly reading in his dark eyes the measure of his commitment.  Buffy would stay, whether Cordelia did or not, and any further attempts to force a choice of new life versus old would not end well for the home team.  He was just going to have to learn this one for himself, all over again.  And when the Slayer inevitably walked away into her "normal life's" sunset, the team of Angel Investigations would be there, as always, to pick up the remaining pieces of vampire heart from the lanai.

"Oh, I'll stay," she said grudgingly.  "If only to say 'I told you so.'  Shall we start a pool on how many languages I'll get to say it in?"

He smiled half-heartedly as he pictured the next few stormy days ahead.  "Good, now that that's settled...can you take over vacuuming the cushions so I can clean out the fridge?"

"Men," she scoffed, holding out her hand for the DustBuster.  "So completely helpless when it comes to housework."  She gazed uncertainly down at the small appliance now dangling from her fingers.  "Does this thing have an 'ON' switch, or do I just put it down and it starts sucking?  You know, kind of like my life." 

* * * * *

Buffy brought the car to a relatively smooth stop and switched it off with a tiny sigh that only Willow, sitting in the seat next to her, could hear.  She checked the rearview mirror to make sure Xander's car was waiting by the gates before she called over her shoulder to her younger sister.

"Here we are, Dawnie.  Try not to be too long."  

"Aren't you coming in with me?"  Dawn looked confused as she leaned over the back of the seat.  "I can't just walk in there by myself and tell him."

Buffy shrugged, not understanding the problem.  "Why not?  You're the one who thought Spike needed a head's up, so go give it to him.  Why do I need to be there?"

"Because he won't believe me," Dawn insisted.  "He'll think it's some sort of trick or something."  Her eyes narrowed as she gave voice to a more deep-rooted belief.  "Or are you scared to face him?"

"And again with the 'why'?" Buffy drawled.  "I just don't feel like dealing with the annoyingness that is Spike on next-to-no sleep.  Or lots of sleep, for that matter.  You're the one who's all concerned; go be Paul Revere so we can get on the road.  It's getting late."

Late because of Willow's need to bring every spell book and magic potion in her possession; late because of Tara's need to pack textbook after textbook to keep up with the few classes they would be missing; late because of Giles' need to call every member of the Watcher's Council he was still speaking to in order to get the most up-to-date skinny on Glory; late because of Anya's need to count the money in the till...three times...before she locked it in the safe; late because of Xander's need to give his rattletrap of a car a thorough check-up before subjecting it to a drive of more than 15 minutes.

Late, in short, to fulfill everyone's needs but her own, since her need was to not be late.

Now Dawn, from what Buffy could see, was in on the whole lateness conspiracy.  Instead of opening her door, the younger girl sat back in her seat and crossed her arms defiantly.  "I'm not going in; not by myself."

"Fine.  Then don't."  Buffy turned the key in the ignition, bringing the engine to life once more.  

"Buffy!" Dawn all but howled.

"Buffy, just go in with her," Willow pleaded.  "It'll only take a few minutes, and it means a lot to Dawn."

"I could go," Tara offered hesitantly, "if you think it would help."  She smiled at Dawn as she placed an affectionate arm around the younger girl's shoulders.  "Maybe if two of us told him...and people say I have an honest face..."

"No; that's okay Tara.  I'll go."  Buffy scowled in the rearview mirror at her little sister, whose pout had turned to a grin of triumph.  "But we're going to make this fast, and we are not, I repeat NOT, going to offer to let him come along.  Angel has enough to deal with without a Spike infestation."

Dawn slipped out of the car without bothering to answer, and cut across the grass to the opening of Spike's crypt.  Buffy made her way along the cemetery path at a slower pace, eventually reaching the marble steps in time to hear a muffled, and accented, oath drift out into the morning air.

"Spike," she snapped as she walked down the steps, "how many times have I told you not to swear in front of Dawn?"

"About as many times as you've said slayers don't run from trouble; they live for it," he growled in return.  "Don't see you keeping your word, so why should I?"

"I'm not running from anything.  My leaving...our leaving...has nothing to do with Glory or hellmouths or anything.  It's personal."

She looked away, uncertain of how much of her plans Dawn had revealed.  If Spike didn't know where they were headed, all the better.  He might just get the idea to follow them, and that would be...she didn't even want to think about it.  Spike and Angel, all the bad history between them before she knew either of them, and now both of them in lo...interested in the same woman?  

'Ouch' didn't begin to cover it.

"Of course it's personal," he sneered.  "It always is with your dark prince.  Well let me tell you something, sunshine; he's not exactly..."

"Dawn," Buffy said quickly, "could you leave us alone for a minute.  I think Spike and I have some things to talk about after all, and the words may be a little more advance than you need to know just yet...or ever."

Dawn glanced fearfully from Spike to Buffy.  "You won't stake him, will you?"

"I won't do anything Spike hasn't been asking for," Buffy replied evenly.

"Seems my day's starting to pick up after all," the vampire drawled, leaning against a sarcophagus.  

Buffy waited until Dawn was safely out of the crypt before she returned her attention to her troublesome companion.

"Look Spike," she said coolly, "it was Dawn's idea that we come here today, not mine.  I actually don't think you're in any danger from Glory unless you provoke her...and it's not my fault that your very personality tends to annoy people to the point of violence."

"Sure, it was all the little bit's doing.  Keep telling yourself that, slayer, and maybe you'll convince yourself; you always were pretty gullible."  He swiped the back of one hand across his T-shirt, pretending to admire the shine on his black-painted fingernails.  "I know you better than that, luv.  I know you better than you'll ever let yourself."

Buffy nodded as she spared him a sour smile.  "Yeah, I could tell how well you knew me by how realistic that BuffyBot was."

"She didn't come out right!"  His chin shot up and his blue eyes blazed as he defended himself.  "The bloody boy genius got things all bollixed up and she came out...different."

"Don't pretend you didn't like it, Spike."  Buffy's smile softened as her tone became almost a purr. She moved slowly, seductively, down the mausoleum steps towards the vampire.  "All that 'Spike is my hero' talk...and the tiny frou-frou skirts...and the knowledge that she was just a little doll you could make do anything you want...she was your dream slayer."

"She was a sight easier to get along with than you; I'll say that much," he snarled, turning his head away.  Buffy was getting dangerously close; the inexplicable slayer vibes she exuded were scrambling his senses.  Or maybe it was just that damn perfume she was wearing.  

She stopped moving a scant half-foot away from him.  The cold radiating from his undead body chilled her almost as much as the emptiness she found in his eyes.  The eyes were supposed to be the windows to the soul, but in a vampire, however human he could pretend to be, she could see nothing but a fathomless pit.

The day she could see something more...that was the day she'd be trading in her stake in for a slab of granite.  Of that she had no doubt.

"I'll bet she was, Spike.  She was grateful for every speck of attention you gave her, and when you got bored you could just shut her in the closet.  You forget; I know your taste in women."

His mouth twisted into a grimace, remembering 'his' women.  "Sure, you try shutting Harmony in a closet; see what that gets you."

"Harmony needs attention more than she needs air, dead or alive," Buffy retorted.  "As long as you could fake that, she could have cared less about what you really thought."

"And do you care so much, ducks?"  He tipped his head to the side and down, gazing flirtatiously at her through his lashes.  "Way you've been talking, I would have thought you'd say no."

Her hands clenched into fists; somehow Spike had a way of shining a spotlight on the smallest, darkest corners of her soul.  Angel could do that too, but the love that guided his words removed much of the shame from the exposure.

With Spike, shame was the whole point.

"I don't care what you think," she ground out, trying to force her tight muscles to relax.  "I care that you made me look like a Stepford Slayer in front of my friends.  I care that you took my entire relationship with Riley and turned it into your own interactive computer game."

"Riley?"  He quirked an eyebrow at her, genuinely puzzled by her words.  "Is that who you thought I wanted you to treat me like?  The overgrown Boy Scout you played house with?"

A grim smile flitted across her face; point scored.

"I know who you really want to be, Spike," she whispered, leaning in so close she ruffled his hair with her breath.  "Who you've always wanted to be.  But I'm not so desperate for attention that I'd waste even sloppy seconds on you.  And if I ever do get that needy...just bite me."  She flicked her fingernail lightly across his lower lip.  "Or hire somebody who can get his teeth up to do it for you."

Spike's eyes narrowed; that one stung.  Had she no shame, to kick a man when he was down?  He jerked his head back, away from the heat and the life that she exuded, and took refuge in a low blow of his own.

"So that's what scratches the itch now, is it?  Taking a tip from the ex, I guess.  Or should I say both ex's?"

Buffy's hand automatically flew up to cover the scar left by Angel's bite, and then her temper surged when she realized Spike had scored a point of his own.  She was silent for a moment, forcing down her instinctive retort.  Spike would be amused more than anything by her defense of Angel, and it wasn't as though she had need to justify anything to the vampire.  She had done nothing to be ashamed of.

Unlike some people.

"Do you remember Billy Fordham?" she asked, seemingly from out of the blue.  

A step backwards allowed her to lean against a pillar, her arms loosely crossed, suddenly the image of calm as she awaited his response.

"Billy who?"  

Spike stared at her as though she had sprouted a second head.  Was he supposed to remember every silly schoolboy that crossed her path?  Surely no demon of his acquaintance went by the intimidating nickname of 'Billy.'

"My friend; Billy Fordham.  'Ford' was what he liked to be called, when he was still alive to be called anything."  She tapped her foot, and frowned slightly, as though disappointed by his memory lapse.  "You killed him."

Uh-oh, Spike thought.  He scrambled for a suitable reply, one that wouldn't anger her and ruin the softer feelings he'd been trying to encourage in her.

"Well, you know pet, that did sort of used to be my, well, bread-and-butter, to put it plainly.  I mean I was...I am...a vampire."  He grinned wolfishly.  "It's part of my charm."

Buffy turned away and began to wander around the crypt, running one outstretched hand over the carved stonework as she rambled.

"He wanted to be a vampire too," she explained quietly.  "He wanted eternal life...because the warranty on his mortal one was running out.  He was even willing to trade my life to get you to turn him."

Spike scratched his head and tried to remember.

"Was he a dark bloke...kind of tall?"  He tapped the side of his head.  "Funny ears?"  He didn't wait for her to answer; suddenly the pieces began to fall into place.  "I remember him now.  Cheeky sort of fellow; had a very high opinion of himself.  Of course, thinking back on the company he was keeping...yeah, he probably was the bright light of those dim bulbs."

She felt a flash of annoyance, remembering lonely Lily and her thwarted attempts to find acceptance.  But Buffy suppressed the urge to immediately put Spike in his place.  Instead, she only nodded as she turned to face him.  

"That was him.  I left him with you, knowing he wanted to be turned, knowing he was going to die soon anyway...the same way my mom could have died, actually." She looked away for an instant; until this moment she had never processed the similarities between her mother's illness and that of her childhood crush.  "I left him after he tried to kill me to get that death wish of his...and I still feel guilty about his death.  I think a part of me always will." 

She tilted her head, a stray beam of light from the doorway highlighting the curious expression on her face.  

"What do you feel, Spike?"

In the ensuing silence, she turned on the heel of her boot and sailed out, obscurely grateful that Dawn had insisted on this stop, and on her presence.  Some things a girl had to do for herself.

* * * * *

There lies approximately one hundred miles of prime California real estate between the small city of Sunnydale and the sprawling urban jungle of Los Angeles.  By car, the trip takes roughly two hours, given current state speed limits and optimal driving conditions.

And given that the driver of the car in question isn't required to stop at a cemetery, a fraternity house, six highway rest stops and one roadside diner to suit the needs and/or whims of one sulky teenager, two navigationally challenged witches, one hyperactive construction worker, one bored ex-vengeance demon and one uneasy Watcher trapped in the car with the construction worker and the ex-vengeance demon.

Then the trip takes just a little bit longer.

* * * * *

The Sunnydale crowd was momentarily struck speechless when they finally wandered into the Hyperion lobby that afternoon.  Even Xander, normally never at a loss for words, could only manage a low whistle.

"I must agree; this is quite impressive," Giles murmured, taking in the expanse of marble and velvet with an appreciative eye.  "I had no idea Angel could afford so lavish a home."

"Kind of makes you sorry you disapproved of him, doesn't it Giles?"  Dawn grinned at the Watcher.  "Lots of money, eternally good looks, owns his own business...I guess he's a pretty good catch for Buffy after all."

"Money had nothing to do with..." Giles started to protest.  He caught the flash of hurt in Buffy's eyes and changed direction.  "Do be serious, Dawn.  I'm just glad there appears to be sufficient room for all the different...personalities...that will be here over the next few days."  He glanced uneasily at Xander, who appeared not to take the hint.

"Personalities?  That's one way of putting it, Giles."  Xander wandered further into the otherwise deserted lobby, peering around the columns to take in the furthest recesses of the room.  "Yeah, I'd say this place was big enough to house Angel and his demon houseguest, along with the three faces of Cordelia."  He paused, rocking back on his heels.  "Yup, perfect home of the big brooding evil."

Willow frowned, a phantom memory teasing at the back of her mind.  "Hey, isn't that supposed to be the 'big brewing..."

"Evil?  He's evil again?"  Anya scurried down the steps and ran to Xander for protection.  From the shelter of his arms, she appealed to Buffy, "But I thought you two just talked...did you have phone sex?  Is that what made him evil?"

"Anya!" Xander yelped, pushing her away.  "Not in front of the k-i-d."  He tilted his head and jerked his chin in Dawn's direction.

"Who's calling who a 'k-i-d'?" Dawn asked archly.  "I know about phone sex.  My health teacher says that's the safest kind of sex there is."

"Well obviously that depends on who's having it," Anya insisted.

"And what do you mean your health teacher told you about phone sex?"  Buffy's eyes widened in horror.    "Oh god, this isn't one of those times where I'm supposed to do some weird active parenting thing and...please...just tell me it's not that," she moaned, burying her face in her hands.

"Look, I like to talk about sex as much as the next person who's not having any at the moment," Anya snapped, "but can we focus on something more important, like possible imminent death?  Is Angel evil or not, Buffy?"

"Why don't you let me answer that?" Angel said as he came down the stairs.

Buffy lifted her head at the sound of his soft, steady voice.  She had rarely felt the need for a champion to ride to her rescue, but there were times that Xander and Anya's 'conversations' made her want to cover her ears and hum the 1812 Overture, complete with simulated cannon fire, until they stopped.  The man approaching her, however, was a much better distraction.

"Angel," she said, an involuntary smile sweeping over her face.  

It still amazed her, that breathless feeling she got whenever she saw him walking towards her.  Suddenly every word was knocked clean out of her brain except for one, and she wasn't even sure if she was using it as his name or just a description.

"Buffy," Angel answered softly, speaking volumes more with his eyes than he would ever be able to put into words.  

Every time he saw her, he couldn't help but remember the first time he laid eyes on her; a schoolgirl then, with a lollipop in her hand and a terrifying innocence glowing on her smiling face.  Even now, years later, when he could barely see the tattered remnants of that innocence in her tired hazel eyes, Angel still remembered that young girl who had offered him redemption before they even exchanged words.

He smiled at her, shutting out everything but the sight of her beautiful face for one long moment, before he collected himself and acknowledged the presence of the others.

"No, Angel's not evil this week," he said with a nod to Anya, "or last week, for that matter.  Feel better now?"

"What about next week?  Xander, why didn't he mention next week?" Anya turned back to Angel before Xander could reply.  "You are planning on sleeping alone, aren't you?  Because we already have to deal with an evil hellgod and I really don't think..."

"That we need to be going into this right now, An," Xander finished for her, covering her mouth with his hand.

"Not in front of the k-i-d, remember?"  Dawn skipped down the front steps and flew across the lobby to Angel, flinging her arms around the surprised vampire.  "I'm really glad to see you, Angel," she enthused, burrowing her face in his broad chest.  "And not just because I got out of my history test."

Buffy stared at her in dismay.  "You had a history test today?  You didn't tell me you'd be missing a test."

She told herself it was the missed exam that had her upset, not the freedom Dawn exhibited around Angel.  Buffy could have hugged Angel by now if she'd wanted to, she just didn't think it was appropriate.

And there was also the part about letting go of him; she was pretty sure that would be required, and she wasn't positive her body would obey once Angel was wrapped around it.  But her annoyance was really, truly about Dawn's history test; of that she was absolutely positive.

The miscreant in question, of course, was the picture of injured innocence.  "You knew about the test, Buffy; that's why you made me go back to bed last night. Or was that because you wanted to talk to Riley alone?"

Buffy carefully avoided Angel's eyes; she wasn't prepared to deal with the hurt she knew she would find there.  Not yet, at least, and definitely not in public.

"Dawn that's not...that had nothing to do with...I mean that has nothing to do with you not reminding me about your test.  We could have started out after you took it."  She grimaced.  "It's not like we didn't have the time for it, what with all the other delays."

Dawn took pity on her older sister, so obviously twisting in the wind.  "But you were really looking forward to seeing Angel again, and I didn't want to be the one who slowed things down."  She glanced up at Angel, giving him a half-smile of encouragement.  "You guys figure out enough ways to gum up the works without my help."

Angel was the one to look away this time, processing the news of Riley's return, and what plans of Buffy's he had "gummed up" by his sudden invitation.

"You know, I'm kind of tired," Tara said suddenly from the doorway.  She cleared her throat and flushed as everyone turned to look at her.  "I don't mean to complain or anything; I just thought...well, maybe we could find some place to sit...or maybe go to our rooms?"

Willow beamed at her girlfriend, sensing Tara's true purpose had more to do with offering time and space to the estranged lovers than any form of exhaustion.  Still, it seemed best to work with the proffered plan.

"Tara's right; she's had a rough few days," the witch chimed in swiftly.  "I think she needs to rest.  I think we all do."

Xander glanced at his watch, shook it, and looked at it again.  "Umm, Will, it's like two o'clock.  I, for one, think I could skip nap time just this once...you know, since I dozed off in the car and all while I was driving."

"Mmm, but who says we have to sleep?" Anya purred, slipping her arms around his waist and snuggling into his side once more.  "Buffy's phone call woke me out of a really sexy dream this morning...and she didn't leave me any time to tell you about it...or show you."

"And on that note," Giles said swiftly, "I vote we adjourn to our mercifully separate quarters."  He flushed, realizing how censorious his words might sound.  "That is to say, I would prefer separate quarters from the rest of you, but of course the remainder of the sleeping arrangements...or perhaps I should say 'accommodations'...are entirely up to you.  All of you.  As individuals.  As adult individuals."

"As responsible adult individuals," Xander said flatly, looking pointedly at Angel.  

The vampire met his gaze evenly, refusing to rise to the bait.

"I have rooms ready for everybody," Angel said instead.  "I wasn't sure who'd be coming along, so I just cleaned out a bunch of them and you can decide who sleeps where."

With firm resolve he pushed away the thought of where she...they...might have been sleeping if they hadn't come here...if she'd stayed in Sunnydale.  She...they...did come to LA; that was what mattered.

"Sure, you cleaned out a bunch of them," Cordelia protested, making her entrance from the tops of the stairs.  "Never mind the buckets of water I carried from the bathrooms...the dust bunnies I got up my nose, thereby making it all red two days before I have an important audition for something not of the cold pill genre..."

"Did she say 'bunnies'?" Anya whimpered, her eyes wide with alarm.  She clutched Xander tighter as her head swiveled to examine the distant corners of the room.  "She's just trying to scare me, right?  Because I sleep with you and she never got the chance to?"

"As if I wanted to," Cordelia scoffed.  She stomped down the stairs, sweeping past Angel even as he tried to reach out and hold her back.  "And for your information," she declared, coming to rest in front of Anya, "he was begging me to but I refused."

"I never begged," Xander protested.  "And the only reason you refused was because..."  Belatedly, Xander remembered he and his ex were anything but alone on this stroll down Memory Lane.  "You know," he said quickly, "I'm thinking a nap sounds like a good idea after all.  A nice quiet nap, with no old ghosts interrupting it."

"I can't promise that," Angel said.  He brushed close to Buffy as he went to retrieve some of the bags from the front steps, and he could almost feel the collision of their thinly controlled emotions, but he fought to keep his voice even as he spoke.  "This is an old hotel, and it's seen its share of tragedy.  We got rid of one demon before we moved in, but I can't guarantee there aren't more."

"Hey, we come from the land of the happy hellmouth."  Xander grabbed his bag and Anya's from Angel's outstretched hands.  "It takes a lot more than a ghost or two to faze us."

"Then have I got a demon for you," said a new voice from the door.

* * * * *

"What are you doing here?  Did something happen at Caritas?"  

Angel watched his demon friend with some concern, noting the furtive glances the Host cast over his shoulder as he quickly moved past the luggage and down the steps.

"You guys are in the demon-hunting biz again, and I have some biz for you."  The Host suddenly noticed the assembled Scoobies.  "Unless you're already working on something for these lovely people, in which case I'll just go and lay down my life for my adopted city, since I'm the only one who has time to, and..."

"Stop," Angel commanded, holding up a hand to stem the torrent of reverse psychology.  "These are friends, not clients.  And I kind of doubt there will be any life laying down in your immediate future...especially if you just tell me what's wrong."

"I told you; I have a demon that needs killing.  By you or me or someone.  Anyone.  He can't stay here; that's all."

Buffy eyed the strange green creature warily.  She wasn't sure what kind of demon he was, but neither Angel nor Cordelia seemed alarmed by his presence.  Confused definitely, but not alarmed.

"You say he; are you sure it's a he?  I mean do you know what it is?"  She stood next to Angel, ready to help fight the demon on the doorstep or the demon yet to be named, whichever he saw fit.  

The Host glanced from Buffy to Angel and then back to Buffy.  A slow smile broke out over his face as a suspicion began to form.

"Say, sweetie, could you hum a few bars for me?  No need for a Broadway medley, you understand; just a note here and a note there to open up the blinders."

"Excuse me?"  Buffy's eyebrow slid upwards as she shot an uneasy look at Angel.  "Did he say I should sing?  Does he know how I sing?"

"No," Cordelia sighed, joining them at the doorway.  "But he's survived Angel's singing, so we figure he's got cast iron eardrums."

"You sing?" Xander couldn't help his snicker, not that he really tried.  "Angel the singing vampire?  Oh Cordy, how could you let that tasty little bit of gossip stay at home?"

"This is the Host," Angel said, forcing each word past his slowly grinding teeth.  "He's an anagogic demon, which means he can read souls."

"When they sing," the Host added quickly.  "But even in the silence, I'm getting the strangest feeling we've met before, my little blonde dumpling.  If you could just sing a bar or two to..."

"Dumpling?" Buffy squeaked, glancing down at her slight frame with some alarm.  

"Oh please," Cordelia groaned.  "Gorge yourself on another lettuce leaf and relax, Ally."  She turned to the Host, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for the rest of the world to get up to speed.  "It's her, okay; Angel's good-bye girl.  I'm sure he's told you all about her, whether he meant to or not, so can we spare ourselves 'Buffy: Live In Concert' and just move on to the new demon in town?"  

Angel looked back at the strangely large group of people gathered in his home.  Normally this many people in the lobby meant some of them weren't actually people, and most of them weren't friendly.

Well, he consoled himself, at least he was safe on the first score.

"Umm, Cordelia, why don't you show everyone to their rooms while I find out about this new threat to humanity."  He nodded at Dawn.  "There's no reason to bother everybody about this just yet."

He sounded so much like his old self that Cordelia started to fall in line without thinking.  Angel was in charge; Angel would take care of things like he always did.  But 'always' wasn't like that anymore, a little voice insisted a moment later.  Angel's habit of taking charge could have gotten them all killed just a few months ago, and it had killed a lot of people...low-life creepy lawyers, true, but still human beings.  

"What about Wesley?" Cordelia asked, forcing her body to stay firmly put.  "He isn't here.  He should be here if we're taking on a new case...but he's not."

"So we'll tell him when he is."  Angel jerked his head back towards the waiting guests.  "Meanwhile you can get everybody settled while I get the details to pass on to Wes...when he gets here."

"I'm staying," Buffy said.  Her quick assured tone suddenly wavered as she met Angel's eyes.  "I don't want to interfere in your business or anything...but this is right up my alley.  And as long as I'm in the neighborhood..."

Angel smiled down at her, taking just an instant to bask in the warmth of cherished memories.  He had always taken pride in Buffy's performance as the slayer, and he had treasured the times he was able to help her fulfill her destiny.  The tables might be turned at the moment, but he still felt that comforting glow of knowing they would fight as a team.

"I'd like that," was all he said, however.

"And so it begins," Cordelia sighed, surrendering to the inevitable. How much trouble could Angel get up to in the lobby anyhow?  "Princess Buffy rides in and collects the vampire prince while Cordyrella cleans up the mess."  She waved her hand towards the staircase.  "Come on, peasants; I have chimneys to sweep after I play cruise director."

"Actually I think this makes you more Gopher than Julie McCoy," Xander pointed out, ducking in the nick of time to avoid Cordelia's hand on the back of his skull.

"Your love boat is going to need a lifeboat if you're not careful, Harris," his former flame threatened as she pushed him up the stairs.

"And to think she can't get an acting job when she's so good at disguising her true feelings," Buffy mused under her breath.

The Host beamed at the small slayer.  "Oh Kitten, we're going to get along just fine."

* * * * *

The front door flew open, hitting the side wall with a resounding crash before it rebounded back on the little monk scurrying across the threshold.

"Oh Slayer," Glory caroled, following Merk slowly into the Summers house.  "Itsy bitsy Slayer person; where are you?"

"I do not think she is here, magnificence," Merk murmured.  He took a quick step back when Glory swung around to glare at him.  "The house...it would seem to be empty," he stammered in explanation.

"But she can't not be here," Glory insisted.  "I'm tired of chasing after her for my Key.  I came here to get it today, and I mean to get it...today."

Merk tried to arrange his lips in a hopeful smile.  "But...she is not here," he repeated.  "Perhaps if we wait..."

"Aren't you listening?  I'm tired of waiting."  Glory stormed into the living room and threw herself down into the chair by the fireplace.  "Once, just once, I want Fate to work for me instead of against me and deliver me my Key."  She scuffed her foot against the carpet.  "Or at least a way to get it quickly."

* * * * *

Riley saw the open door from halfway down Revello Drive; he was in Sunnydale and all his senses were wired for anything that looked out of the ordinary.  Buffy's door being wide open, with only a strange car in the driveway, actually didn't qualify as out of the ordinary, but it did come under the heading of 'suspicious.'

Dammit, he had known something was up!  She seemed so strange last night, but he'd chalked it up to the awkwardness of the situation.  He'd even come to believe she truly meant to start things up again with Angel; after spending half the day walking and thinking about it, he'd come here today to say good-bye.  Riley Finn didn't hang around where he wasn't wanted.  

But seeing her house now, so open and vulnerable to attack, he realized there had been more going on than just an uncomfortable farewell.  She was in trouble; she was just too proud to ask for help, least of all from a boyfriend she'd turned away.

She needed him.  Not Angel, who couldn't go out in the day even if he still lived anywhere near Sunnydale...even if he still lived, which technically, he didn't.  No, she needed Riley, who was here, right here, when she needed him.  Which was now.

With that in mind, Riley hunched over and began to run, cutting across neighbors' lawns in an effort to reach the living room windows of Buffy's house unobserved.  Unfortunately, while no one in the house seemed to see him, he also couldn't see them through the window sheers, whoever 'them' might be.

Obviously the situation called for invasive procedures, and that called for backup.  But backup took time to gather, and Riley knew that if Buffy was inside, she needed his help now, not when he'd amassed an army to assist him.

He ducked down, sliding past the front window to avoid discovery.  Once he reached the relative safety of the other side, however, he straightened his back before he marched in the front door.

Head up, back straight and eyes forward, no crouching or sneaking around for Riley Finn.  Buffy needed...no, wanted...a man, a real man, and that's the way a real man went into battle.

His mind wouldn't allow him to remember how such 'real men' too often came out of the battle.

* * * * *

"So this Drokken demon, he kills people, right?" Angel asked for the third time.  

"Well, sure, if he, umm, thinks it's necessary," the Host hedged.  He forced a little laugh.  "And who knows what a Drokken might consider necessary, so of course you can see why I think you should kill him first."

Buffy slipped off the edge of the desk, impatient for action after a too-long car trip and its inevitable 'not-flying-into-Angel's-arms' conclusion.  Sitting so close to him in body, yet so very far away in spirit, was slowly driving her wild.

"Okay, works for me," she said briskly.  "Where is it and what do we need to kill it with?"  She smiled winsomely at Angel.  "I brought lots of weapons...if you'll help me unload them from the car."

He returned her smile with slightly less enthusiasm.  "Maybe when it's a little more on the shady side out there," he suggested.  "In the meantime, I'm still not getting a bead on why this Drokken is such a big threat."  He returned his attention to the Host.  "Has he actually killed anyone...or did you see him planning it when he sang at the club...or did he..."

"Angel, it's a demon," Buffy interrupted him.  "We kill demons; it's pretty much our theme song.  Read the t-shirts."

The Host straightened his back, sniffing loudly at the overeager slayer.  "I certainly hope I'm not part of that logo.  I may be a demon, but I'm a lot nicer guy than some of the slime that crawls through this place."  He looked over at Angel, suddenly realizing his remarks were subject to interpretation.  "I meant the lawyers, Angel-cakes, not the help."

"Understood."  

Angel ran a hand through his shock of dark hair and tried to force his weary brain to function.  Somehow he had to find out the true source of Buffy's distress and its remedy, as well as placate Cordelia, play hosts to his guests, possibly find and fight a demon whose goals were yet to be determined, and oh yes, reeducate a Vampire Slayer to believe that not all demons were evil.  The last was a concept he was only beginning to come to grips with himself.

Some days he really wondered why he'd been so eager to rise out of that nice quiet coffin.

Buffy felt something twist deep inside of her at the sight of Angel's distress, and her only thought was to offer succor.  Her hand fell to the back of his neck and slipped beneath his collar, her fingers working out the knots in his corded muscles before she even realized what she was doing.  He looked so tired all of the sudden, almost...old, and it frightened her.  Angel was her strength; she depended on him, whether he knew it or not.

"Angel, hon..."  The sensations from her fingertips finally penetrated her consciousness and her hand snapped back to her side.  "Angel," she tried again, working hard to steady her traitorous voice.  

He raised his head, meeting her gaze with resignation.

"Angel, you're right," she said bravely.  "We need more info; I know that.  I just wanted to do something...get my body working even if my mind is still an autopilot.  Blame it on the long car trip."

He smiled, the slow sweet smile she remembered glimpsing on all too rare occasions.

"It just about killed you to say that, didn't it?"

She chuckled in relief and perched once more on the edge of the desk, still keeping that damned careful distance between them.

"Pretty much, so I hope you have your business consultations taped or something.  Those are words you will not soon hear again."

"Aw, this is so sweet," the Host purred.  "It's enough to make me cry...if the broken glass, broken tables and broken wall in my club hadn't already made me do that today."  The glare emanating from his red eyes was truly impressive.  "So are you going to help me or not?"

"We are," Angel said firmly, in concert with Buffy.  "But first, you want to tell us how you know what this thing is, and what it wants?"

"You really need to know?"

"I'd cross my heart, but...well, you can see my problem with that one," Angel said.

"All right," the demon sighed, "but remember, you asked for it.  I'm afraid this, my friend, is a story as long as your pearly whites." 

* * * * *

The human was pathetic.  All brash stampeding menace one minute, and then the fight just went out of him.  A few quick blows to the head...and the stomach...and the chest...and he just folded up like a cheap tray table.  Pathetic.

The goddess turned on her heel and temporarily abandoned Riley to his chosen place on the floor by the fireplace.  Fine, she fumed, if he wanted to be stubborn like little Miss 'I Save the World Even On Holidays and Weekends,' the he could just lie there and bleed for a few minutes while she thought of a new plan to find the Slayer, and thus, her Key.  Something quick.  Something simple.  

Something that didn't drain her energy so much.

Glory wheeled around and gazed at the former commando with new eyes.  As a source of information, he was fairly useless: all talk and no actual knowledge.  But as a quick pick-me-up...well, that his brain cells might have the wattage for.

* * * * *

"So you're saying this demon came through a portal from your world," Buffy said slowly, "and that world is not the same as this one?"  

She didn't know why she was so surprised; Glory came from another dimension as well.  But in almost 14 years of public schooling, not a single geography teacher had ever mentioned even one extra dimension, let alone a surplus.

"This is LA, sweetie," the Host drawled.  He leaned back in his chair and elegantly crossed his legs.  "Everybody's from someplace else."

"I'm, umm, actually from LA.  Not lately, I mean, but originally."

"Seriously?"  He looked interested, his red eyes wide and alert.  "And you left it for the glamour that is a hellmouth?"

She smiled painfully.  "Not much choice.  Combination of my folks getting divorced and ye olde sacred destiny."  Buffy glanced through the open door of the office, towards the staircase at the edge of the lobby.  "Speaking of things destined, I better go check on Dawn before she manages to pull the building down around us.  She really, I mean really, loves to explore.  And it, uh, usually ends with a call to the fire marshal."

Angel half-rose from his seat, alarm spreading quickly across his face.  "Fire marshal?" he asked faintly.  "You know, maybe it would be a good idea after all if you..."

"On my way," she promised swiftly.  "Sounds like I'm not needed on the demon-front until sundown anyway."  Buffy nodded her head cordially at the Host and threw a smile over her shoulder at Angel as she sped out of the office.

Angel watched her progress across the lobby in silence, as the Host watched him in equal stillness.

"Well, I think you're pushing your luck waiting to get the Drokken, Angel-face," the Host murmured at last, "but I'm taking it on faith that it has more to do with not wanting to burst into flames than it does with the chance to spend some quality time with the fairy princess here."

Angel closed his eyes and asked the PTB's for strength, not for the first time that day.  

"She needs some help; that's why she came here," the vampire patiently explained.

"If I was planning some big romantic reunion, do you think I would have suggested she bring half the town with her?"

The Host narrowed his eyes as a mocking smile spread across his green face.  "Never ask a question like that to one who has seen the kinkier side of your soul, sweetie.  But actually, no, I suppose you wouldn't, just from a pain relief standpoint.  I don't need music to hear the roar coming from that collection of souls...and a lot of it is directed at you.  There isn't a pain killer in the world that will shield you from those waves."

"I'm not looking for shelter," Angel replied evenly.  "I just want to help Buffy."

"Same difference, my brave little camper.  For you she's hell and salvation all rolled up into one bite-sized package."

* * * * *

**To Be Continued**


	4. Chapter 4

Epiphanies for Sale Part 4 

By Gem

Wesley Wyndham-Price strolled into the lobby of the Hyperion Hotel at peace with himself and the world at large.  The world, of course, was populated by a combination of foolishly blind humans and the unspeakable demons who preyed upon them...but that was how a business such as Angel Investigations would grow and thrive:  one unspeakable demon at a time.

His contentment was somewhat disturbed by the unexpected presence of the Host in the lobby.  The former Watcher looked quickly to Angel for guidance...no, make that an explanation.  Wesley was in charge now, and doing a very good job of it too.

Even Angel said so.

"We seem to have a guest."  Wesley nodded courteously to the Host.  "To what do we owe the honor?"

The Host smiled, forcing more optimism into his voice than he actually felt.  "Angel-cakes will fill you in, Wesley, old man.  I have a club to run...at least I hope I still do...if certain demons haven't destroyed it yet."  He sniffed loudly as he marched up the steps towards the door.

"We're going to find it," Angel called after him in a half-hearted attempt at placation.  "I'd just rather wait until there's two of us to..."

It was too late; the Host was gone, with a loud enough closure of the heavy glass door to make Angel fear for its continued existence.  The vampire groaned and ran an agitated hand through his dark hair as he threw himself into a corner of the sofa.  There were times he could make himself forget, for a few brief moments, the limitations of his eternal existence; Buffy had usually been at the heart of such moments.  Then of course, some great evil would waltz into town and throw it in his face all over again.

"If my mathematics tutor were to be believed," Wesley said dryly, "there are two of us."  He pointed to himself, "One," and then to Angel, "two.  See how simple?"

"I didn't mean you, Wes."  Angel answered without thinking, his weary mind still turning over possibilities for daytime reconnaissance.  "I was thinking of Buffy."

"Yes, well that goes without saying, but..."  Wesley looked startled.  "What do you mean you were thinking of Buffy?  In what capacity?"

"Savior of the universe; what else?"   The Slayer sighed dramatically as she slowly descended the staircase.  "Or is it co-savior this time, since it's not actually my big bad?"  She grinned at the surprise on Wesley's face.  "What's the matter, Wes?  Saber-tooth demon got your tongue?"

"How's Dawn?" Angel hastily interjected.  "Is everything okay?"

"As okay as it can be for someone who blew off a test.  Giles is quizzing her instead, and then later Willow and Tara are going to take her to the mall.  Assuming Giles gives her a clean bill of knowledge."

"Buffy.  Here.  Now.  With an entourage."  Wesley turned his startled gaze from the approaching slayer to the suddenly guilty-looking vampire in the lobby.  "Isn't that quite the surprise?"

Angel drew a deep breath and prepared for battle number two of the day.  Maybe it was a good thing he couldn't leave the hotel during the daytime, he reflected grimly; he seemed to get in enough trouble without even stirring from this couch.

"I asked Buffy to visit," the vampire explained with as much aplomb as he could muster.  "Buffy, and her sister, and her friends.  They are staying here...in my home," he finished with quiet emphasis.

"And you didn't feel this would have any impact on the rest of us?  No, of course not; you never do."

Buffy took the last few steps at a quicker pace, anger propelling her swiftly across the lobby to face Wesley nose-to-nose.

"Hey," she snapped, "last time I checked, Angel didn't have a Watcher he had to report to.  Or a housemother, for that matter.  Since when is it your business who he has sleeping over?"

Wesley didn't bother to answer Buffy with words; he merely raised one scornful eyebrow.  She flushed as his meaning penetrated, and forced her eyes away from the miserable Angel.

"Oh, okay, so you have a point," she stammered, "in a way.  But also not...because this is not a 'sayonara soul' type of sleepover.  I brought my little sister with me, for pete's sake.  Do you really think I would bring her along if...well, you know what 'if' I'm talking about."  

"Can we not get into this right now?" Angel asked impatiently.  He pressed his fingertips into his aching forehead, wishing for just one easy conversation this day.  "Buffy and her friends are staying.  Period.  The Host needs help killing a Drokken demon.  Period."

"And I'm helping," Buffy chimed in.  "Period."  She smiled in relief; here, at last, was an area of safe conversation.

"Not period," Wesley snapped.  "This is a case for Angel Investigations..."

"And lucky you; you have a ringer in town to lend a hand."  She smirked at his discomfiture, though she was beginning to notice Angel was not sharing in her triumph.  "Better yet, I can lend a fist."

"As I was saying," her former Watcher growled, "this case was brought to us to handle, and we will do so without any outside assistance from..."

Angel stood up quickly, moving between Wesley and Buffy.  He fixed his dark eyes on the Englishman, pinning his friend to the spot with the intensity of his gaze.

"From friends," Angel finished quietly.  "And isn't that what you keep saying friends are supposed to do?  Be there for each other?"

Wesley pursed his lips as he debated the wisdom of continuing this line of discussion.  Something about the dead calm he found in Angel's eyes warned him it would be futile.  

And possibly hazardous.

"Touché," he said, in grudging surrender.

"I think this is where you get to say 'so there,' Angel...or do you want me to say it for you?"  Buffy smiled uncertainly at her beloved, still sensing a confusing tension flowing between the two men.

"Why don't I just leave you two to talk while I get some work done," Wesley suggested with an icy smile.  "If we have a new demon on the loose, I obviously need to do some reading up.  A Drokken, I believe you said?"  He turned and quickly exited the now silent lobby, leaving Buffy watching after him with her mouth half-open.

"So what kind of twelve-legged demon bug crawled up his...Angel, why didn't you tell him off?"  The Slayer swung around to confront him.  "How could you let him talk to you like that?"

"He's just...upset," Angel said vaguely.  "It throws him off to have you here.  I can understand the feeling."

"Angel, he was talking to you like he was, I don't know...your..."

"Boss," he suggested.  The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a ghost of a smile.  "He is, you know.  Technically speaking."

Buffy was stunned.  She took a few quick steps towards Angel, but something in the rigidity of his figure warned her off of any direct contact.  Instead she opted to perch on the edge of the glass coffee table.  

"When did all this happen?" she asked quietly, trying to push aside her hurt at being kept out of such a big part of his life.  Again.

"It was a few months ago," he admitted.  He sat down, very carefully, in the armchair next to her.  "I went through a bad patch...I told you about that the last time we...the night I came to Sunnydale."

Buffy searched her memory for any and all of the things he'd said that night, but there was so little to draw from.  He'd come to listen to her, to share her grief and help her express it.  Somehow, despite her periodic questions, very little about his life, or problems, had come to light.

"Angel, you said things got rough," she protested, "but you never said anything about losing your business.  I know I was pretty messed up that night, but I swear I would have remembered that."

"I wasn't there to talk about me, Buffy," he said gently.  "And if it makes you feel any better, I didn't lose it.  I just kind of...stopped caring...at least for a little while.  But Wesley and Cordy and Gunn knew better, and they kept things going...kept the fight going...when the only one I was interested in fighting was myself."

"I wish I had known.  Maybe I could have helped."  Her shoulders twisted in a frustrated shrug.  "I'm not sure how, but I could have tried."

"Eventually I came my senses and realized what I had done, but by then it didn't seem right to ask them to come back to work for me.  And I didn't want to start over without them.  So now I'm working for them...with them."  He sighed, thinking of the past few lonely weeks.  "Well, mostly for them, I guess."

She leaned forward, her embarrassment forgotten in the face of his obvious pain.

"But Angel, this is too important for you to stand back and let others take charge.  I know you don't live on a hellmouth anymore, and so maybe the demons you run into aren't planning on sending the world on a one-way trip to parts below or anything like that.  But I've picked up enough from eavesdropping on Giles when he talks to Wes; I know what you face is still big and evil and needs someone who understands big and evil from the inside out."  She paused, and then held up one hand.  "Wait; that didn't come out right."

He couldn't help his smile; he had always loved the way she spoke her mind, especially when it led her to utter truths her tender heart would have tempered.

"It's all right; I understand."  His smile slipped away again, leaving an achingly familiar sadness in his eyes.  "But this is the way it needs to be for now."

"No," Buffy retorted, firmly shaking her head.  "You need to start taking some responsibility again.  You can't just sit back and let them do it for you; it's not right."

He looked at her strangely, wondering if she could hear the incongruity of her words.  Judging by the impatient expression he saw coming back at him, he thought not.

"What?" she snapped.  "What's with the 'Buffy's speaking in tongues again' look?"

"It's just...you're telling me to take responsibility and...forget it; it's nothing."  He shook his head, deciding this was one battle too many today.  

"No; you obviously have a point to make, so start pointing."  She snapped her back into a rigid line and crossed her arms over her chest, unconsciously shielding herself from any painful revelations.

"I just think it's odd that you think I'm being irresponsible when you've turned Dawn over to Giles and Willow for the rest of the day," he explained unwillingly.  "You ran upstairs because you were afraid five minutes alone in a strange place would turn her into an arsonist...and then you leave her schoolwork to Giles, and the rest of her entertainment to Willow...if Giles says it's okay."  

"Giles is better at the school stuff, okay?  You know that's not my specialty."  She turned her head away, gazing blankly up the stairs as she continued to protest.  "And she likes spending time with Tara and Willow, so I don't see what the big ditching deal is there.  I just wanted to spend some time alone with you, if you must know."  The heat from her glare when she turned back to face him could have warmed Angel for the next century.  "That is why I came here, if you remember."

Her words struck deep into his already bruised conscience.  Even though he'd known how badly she wanted to talk with him about the two of them, he'd unconsciously sought ways to avoid that very conversation out of his own fears for the future.

"Uncle," he exclaimed, raising both hands in the air in surrender.  "You're right; you said we needed to talk, and we have nothing else on the agenda until dark.  Let's talk."  He glanced around the lobby and up the staircase to the second-floor balcony.  "But not out here.  I don't know why but this place is like Grand Central today."

"Umm, could it be the seven extra people you've got wandering through it?" she teased.  "Why don't we go up to your room?"  She saw the flare of desire shoot through his eyes, followed by a crushing regret.  "Or maybe not," she added sadly.

Angel shook his head, suppressing any qualms he had along with any expectations.  "No, it's fine.  We won't be disturbed, and it's not like anything is going to happen." He looked at her steadily, trying to show the resolve his head knew was right even as his heart raged against it.  "We know nothing can."

Buffy forced herself to get to her feet, matching his strength of will with her own.  "Right.  That's impossible, and we both know the impossible never happens, not even to us."

* * * * *

"Nope, not possible."  Spike shook his bleached blond head firmly, pushing away the evidence of his senses.  "You're a vampire, luv.  We don't do the go forth and multiply part of the equation; we're strictly divide and conquer."

Darla smiled thinly as she leaned against the pillar by the rear entrance to Spike's crypt.  She'd never given the matter much, or rather any, thought before, but somehow she'd assumed aching feet were a symptom of late pregnancy.  Obviously she was as naïve about that as she was about the need for birth control after death.

"Spike.  Dear, silly, smart-ass Spike."  Her face morphed into the demon's visage, allowing her to bare her fangs.  "Believe your ears, Spike, not the decayed collection of cells you call a brain.  Believe the hunger this little life is stirring in you as its blood cells multiply."  She smoothed a hand over her abdomen, smirking as Spike's eyes followed her lazy strokes.

"But how?" he almost whined.  He tore his hungry gaze away from her stomach and stared plaintively into her yellow eyes.

She shrugged and shifted her weight to the other foot.  Trust Spike not to remember to offer a lady a chair, let alone a pregnant lady.  Maybe this hadn't been such a bright idea for a detour after all.

"Damned if I know.  And I'm not going to stick it out long enough to ask the little brat either."  Her smile was even colder now, though the demon's image had receded.  "Just as soon as I rub Buffy's flat little nose in Angel's bad behavior, I'm off to the nearest witch doctor who can give me back my girlish figure."  She cocked her head to the side, pondering her options.  "Do you think they have any working through Planned Parenthood?  I saw a pamphlet in my hotel room and..."

"Buffy?" Spike interrupted her.  "If it's her you're looking for, why come here?"

Darla pushed herself off of the pillar and strolled across the crypt towards Spike on the sofa.

"Because I'm just barely showing," she purred, "and I don't want to waste a lot of time fending off her feeble attempts at fat jokes.  I want her to know that I'm carrying Angel's baby; I don't want her to be in any doubt whatsoever about what it is and where it came from."

Spike leaned back into the corner of the sofa, feigning indifference even as his mind feverishly spun fantasy after fantasy of the Slayer's potential encounter with Darla...and Angel's subsequent encounter with a stake.  It was enough to make him drool, but he had no intention of giving the show away to the likes of Darla.

"Still not seeing the why of here, pet."

"Ooh, aren't we the valley vamp these days," she cooed.  "I guess you have been spending a bit of time with our Miss Buffy; you've forgotten how to talk, William."  She placed her hands on the back of the sofa, one on either side of his head, and leaned in, giving him a generous glance down the front of her straining blouse.  "I wonder what else you've forgotten."

"I'd say more than you'll ever know...but you were the professional."

She hissed in annoyance and jerked back, spinning around to throw herself petulantly in the other corner of the sofa.  

"She won't believe her eyes...and she won't believe me," Darla grumbled.  "But she will believe you."

"And just what makes you think that?"

Darla smiled again, her good humor fully restored by the hopeful note in Spike's voice.  It was so funny that all it took to make a man do what you want was a little stroke to the ego.

It certainly was a less time-consuming area to massage than others she had used over the centuries. 

"I've talked to Drusilla, of course.  She told me all about you and the Slayer...and what you wished there was to tell about you and the Slayer.  You've got the little fool convinced you can be trusted; you even picked her over Dru.  She'll believe you."

Spike laid his hand over his dead heart.  "I'm touched by your faith...truly I am.  Happens, though, that the Slayer isn't here right now.  She and the rest of her band of merry menaces to demonic society took off this morning."  He snapped his fingers.  "You just missed them."

"I don't believe it."  Darla's eyes narrowed as she peered at his blandly smiling face.  "You're trying to protect her, aren't you?"

Spike snorted.  "Not bloody likely.  Think I wouldn't enjoy seeing her get her comeuppance for preferring that..."  He shook his head.  "Never mind.  She's not here, and all the wishing in the world won't bring her back sooner."

Darla stood up quickly, staggering slightly as she adjusted to her ever-changing center of gravity.  

"Show me.  Take me to her house and show me she's not there."

"Go yourself."  He pointed to the rear entrance to the crypt.  "Straight back through the sewers the way you came in, then take a left at the black and red can marked 'bio-hazard.'  Leads right into the Slayer's cellar after a block or so."  He slapped a hand to his head, pretending embarrassment.  "What am I thinking?  You couldn't get in by yourself for a look-see anyway, now could you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that.  I was invited in once, and while she might be bright enough to ward off the undead, I hardly think she'd take precautions against a pile of ashes."

"What makes you think she thinks you're still dead?"

Darla smiled complacently as she ran a hand down her side and across her stomach.

"Angel isn't dead either."

Spike grinned as he once again pictured the Slayer's face when confronted with the proof that Angel had been unfaithful. Forget that they were no longer together; forget Dudley Do-Buffy and their year-and-a-half long "relationship."  Angel was the one who walked; therefore he was supposed to be the one pining away for what he'd lost.

"You mean he's not dead yet, luv."

* * * * *

"This is taking too long, Merk.  I'm starting to think she's gone someplace further away than the mall."

Glory rapidly paced the length of the hallway and back, alternately checking the kitchen door and the front door for signs of a returning slayer.  So far, and much to the detriment of Merk's nerves, there had been no such signs.

"Perhaps we should leave and come back at another time, oh divine one.  Surely it would be more imposing if we were to," the little monk waved his arms broadly, "surge into the room and take it over than," he dropped his arms and clasped his hands in front of him, "be waiting here on her couch."

The hellgod gazed narrowly at her minion, dimly sensing a criticism for her battle tactics in his mild suggestion.  Dimmer still was the memory that _her_ battle tactics had initially been _his_ idea.

"I have a better idea," she announced.  "Just burn it down."

"Magnificence?" Merk murmured, cocking his head to the side as he puzzled out her war plans.  "Burn...what?"

"This!"  She swept her arm in front of her, gesturing to the living room.  "All of it.  Burn it.  We'll make the live news at six."  She let out a short cackle.  "That ought to smoke her out, don't you think?"

Merk pretended not to notice her laugh had turned into an inelegant, and decidedly un-godlike, snort.

"Most assuredly, your Gloryelegance."  He nodded so vigorously the stray hairs on his head waved in the resulting breeze.  "But, oh beatific being, what shall we do with the human?"

Glory's eyes followed his to the creature by the fireplace.  The creature was sitting up now, huddled on the hearth with his arms wrapped around his knees as he quietly sang snatches of songs to himself.  The hellgod's lip curled in disdain at the waste of space the creature's existence created on this puny planet.

"Do?" she asked curiously, turning back to Merk.  "Why should we do anything?"

"But the fire..."

"Will do it for us," she finished impatiently.  "Now can we get a move on here?  I've never tried starting a fire with something as primitive as match, but the tin-eared soldier's brain didn't pack enough charge to get the lightning bolts up and running."  She scowled at Merk, already sure of the response before she said, "And I'm guessing somebody else forgot to pack the flamethrowers."

Merk's face fell in shame.  "Apologies, oh hallowed one," he whispered.

"It's true what they say.  You just can't get good help these days."

* * * * *

"So this is your room," Buffy mused, running a gentle hand along the face of the tall wooden dresser.  "It's nice."

Angel chuckled at the polite tone in her voice; he could tell she wasn't nearly as impressed by the 'inner sanctum' as she had been by the lobby downstairs.

"It's a little bare...I mean under-furnished," he hastily corrected himself.  "But I'm actually not in here much anymore, so I don't really notice it."  He glanced around, suddenly seeing the expanse of unadorned walls surrounding the few isolated pieces of necessary furniture.  "At least I didn't."

Buffy paused and turned to him, suddenly worried that she'd offended him.  "No, Angel, I mean it.  Meant it.  It's really nice.  Nice and big. And you have windows, and a balcony...that is a balcony behind the French doors, right?"  At his nod, she continued, "And you put your bed on a frame again instead of...not that I was particularly looking at where...not that I would look..."

"Buffy," he said, just loudly enough to be heard over her embarrassed mumblings, "it's okay.  This is...a little awkward.  For both of us."

She flashed him a grateful smile.  "It is, isn't it?  Kind of like old times."  The smile slipped from her face.  "Too bad it can't be more like old-old times instead."

There was no easy answer to that.  Instead, Angel waved to the single armchair in the corner, carefully placed between the floor lamp and a window ledge.  

"Why don't you sit down?"  

As Buffy curled up in the armchair, Angel balanced uneasily on the edge of the bed facing her.  He would have preferred to take another seat, but he hadn't gotten around to buying another chair for the room yet.  Until today, he'd never needed one.

"I, uh, I'm sorry it took so long for us to get here," Buffy said, her face flushing with the inadequacy of her words.  As though 'sorry' began to cover her earlier frustration.  "First Dawn needed something, then Willow, then Anya...and just try to get Giles to go anywhere in under two hours.  He's worse than my..."

Silence.

"Than your mom," Angel said softly, filling in the words that had fallen off into the gulf of memories.  "It's still hard for you to talk about her; I know.  But anything you want to say...I'm right here, Buffy."  He leaned forward, capturing one of her warm hands in his own.

She shook her head, blinking back the involuntary tears that dimmed her eyes.  "I didn't come here to talk about Mom.  We can...we probably will...but later.  I want to talk about us now."

Angel looked down at her hand, so small inside his, yet holding on to him so strongly.  Where did she get that strength, he wondered.  When there was so much reason to give up, how did she find it within herself to keep holding on?

"What about us?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully steady.

"The fact that there still is an 'us' to talk about."  She smiled at him as his head slowly rose and his eyes met hers.  "I know you left to give me a chance at a...I believe the popular phrase is 'a normal life.'  I also think you left to keep yourself from going crazy after three years of trying to fit in to what you thought should be my normal life."

A small, rueful smile tugged at his lips.  "If you think I was going crazy then, you should have seen me when I first got to LA.  Thinking about spending the rest of eternity never seeing your face again...that was my quickest route to a padded room."  He glanced around the room.  "I'm just a slow decorator, that's all."

"No, you're strong," she countered him, her soft voice tinged with unwilling pride.  He had done so much, done so well, all without her.  Did he even need her anymore?  Did he ever?  "Stronger than you'll ever give yourself credit for.  You made something of yourself...by yourself."

"I had help," he said, thinking of Doyle and Cordelia, and now Wesley and Gunn.

She shook her head firmly, pushing aside her injured ego, and her insecurities, for his sake.  "No.  Nobody can make you become somebody; it's a choice you make every day, and you have to do the dirty work on your own.  I'm, umm, starting to learn that one again myself."

"You were always somebody, Buffy.  Don't be so hard on yourself for being young and wanting to have fun."

"I wanted you more," she said bluntly.  "But when I couldn't have you, I settled for those other things.  And for a while I thought they would be enough...but they're not.  They never will be."

Dammit, he knew this was going to happen.  He knew the moment he invited her to come here...no, the moment he picked up that phone...he knew that she was looking for more than he could offer her.  All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and never let go, but he couldn't even hold her hand without getting them into trouble.

"Buffy," he asked quietly, holding her eyes steadily with his own, "what did you think was going to happen here today?"

"Honestly?"

He nodded, regretfully letting go of her now-chilled hand.

Buffy sighed, both at the question and at the loss of his touch.  "I thought...no, make that I knew...I knew that you were going to be stubborn and self-sacrificing and, grr, old, about all this.  But I also know that I'm more stubborn."

"Old?"  He didn't even bother with the other two; they were familiar charges.  But to be called 'old'...that hurt.

"Yes, old," she said firmly.  "You have this idea that because you have a few centuries on me that you know what's best for me.  That you have all the answers."

"I never said I have all the answers," he protested, "but I have seen just a little bit more of the world than you have, Buffy."

"But you're the one who said you'd never been in love before me.  You're as much in the dark about this stuff as I am."

He nodded unwillingly.  "That's true.  But I do know what can happen when you pretend that the rest of the world doesn't matter, and only your own happiness counts."

"What happens?" she challenged.  "Too much 'and they lived happily ever after'?  Would that be so bad?"

"At the expense of the rest of the world?  I think you, of all people, know the answer to that one."  His tone was as gentle as he could make it; even after all this time he knew it still wounded her far more than he to be reminded of his time in hell.

"Will you forget, for just one second, about that stupid curse?  I know it's there, okay; I'm not going to go wild and jump your bones and send the world to hell just to have a little love in the afternoon."  She ran a hand through her long blonde hair, unconsciously tugging at the ends in her frustration.  "But Willow is getting to be a pretty powerful witch; there's no telling what she can do if she sets her mind to it.  And Tara's almost as good; she's just...quieter."

"Buffy..."

"And don't forget Dawn," she rushed on, not giving him time to interrupt.  "Who knows what mystical energy she can summon once we get Glory off our backs?"  Buffy shuddered, remembering her sister's abortive attempt to call Joyce back from the grave.   "I'm not saying I want her to start taking Black Arts 101 or anything, but she's already shown some aptitude...and some interest."

"So we have your friends and your sister spend all their free time trying to spackle a loophole in a curse that I earned every syllable of?"  His voice was bleak with disbelief.  "Buffy, that's not right.  And even if it was, you know that wasn't the whole problem."

"I know that was the tie-breaker," she countered, showing a flash of slayerly temper.  "I know that's the only one we haven't outgrown or just proved wrong.  I tried the normal life idea; it didn't work for me, and it never will.  You tried to stay away from one and it found you anyway."

"You think my life is normal?"  His tone rang with disbelief.  "Which part?  The working stiff who fights demons...or the demon who pays a mortgage?"

"You bought a house," she glanced around the room, "well, all right, a hotel.  You built a business, made friends...you might have even gone on dates."

His eyes shifted uneasily at the last comment, feeling the intensity of her emotions behind the seemingly careless words.

"Not exactly," he murmured evasively.

It wasn't the answer she had been hoping for, but she decided to let it pass for the moment.  She had managed to put him on the defensive, and every fighting instinct in her bloodline told her to press her advantage to the full.

"You wanted me to see what a normal life was like, and I do.  I see yours."  She slipped off of the chair and crouched in front of him, resting her hands on his knees for balance.  "But it's not perfect, is it, Angel?  You have almost everything you wanted me to have, and it's still missing one thing.  The one thing you wouldn't let me have."  She leaned in still closer, her head just below his chin and her wide hazel eyes focused on his dark ones.  "It's missing us."

* * * * *

"Right this way, old dear...or should I call you 'little sister' now?"  Spike gestured for Darla to precede him into the Summers' cellar.  "Someday one of these wunderkind will notice there's a door behind the furnace, but until then I can..." he stuttered to a halt as Darla smoothly passed through the door and into the cellar.  "I'll be damned; Slayer really didn't change the locks."

"Told you so."  Darla flashed him an impish grin.

"Somebody's going to be in trouble," Spike sang softly as he followed Darla up the stairs.  He suddenly couldn't wait to track Buffy down and present her with Darla and Darla's little dividend, courtesy of Soul Boy.  Soul Boy, whose soul was apparently not troubled by forgetting to tell one ex that the other ex was once more undead and kicking.

That's when the sparks, and stakes, would begin to fly.

Of course, judging by the smell of kerosene wafting down the stairwell, sparks might not be such a good idea.  Spike pushed past Darla at the top of the cellar steps and hurried towards the living room, staggering backwards and sideways when he encountered the rays of light pouring through the open front door.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, carefully kicking the door closed with the tip of his boot.  "Who left the door open?  Were these people raised in a barn or something?"

"Nothing quite so three-dimensional, actually," Glory said softly from the kitchen.

Spike spun around and stared, as did Darla from the top of the stairs.

"You again?" Glory said in surprise.  "I thought you gave up playing with the Slayer."

"He's here with me," Darla said smoothly.  "And you would be?"  She paid no attention to the can of kerosene in Glory's hand, or the box of matches in Merk's; they might have been meeting at a cocktail party.

Glory looked her up and down, using all her senses to get a feel for the woman...no, creature...who faced her so calmly.

"Glory," the hellgod finally answered.  "And you're a vampire...with access to the Slayer's house.  Another one."  She put her free hand on her hip.  "Is that how the little moron has survived all this time?  She just turns her house over to you guys for parties?"

"I'm an old...friend of a friend," Darla answered.  "I don't think Buffy knew I was still alive."

"You're not," Glory said bluntly.  Her eyes narrowed and swung sharply down to Darla's abdomen.  "So why am I sensing you've got a bun in the refrigerator?"

Darla patted her stomach complacently.  "Just one of life's little mysteries, I guess."

"And you're here because?" Glory prompted.  "I don't mean to rush you, but I was planning on burning the house down, and then I have an appointment with my manicurist.  I can't be late for that; she's an holy terror when she's mad."

"I hear you."  Darla nodded in complete sympathy.  "And I really don't want to interrupt your arson, but we're looking for the Slayer."

"She's not here."

"Pretty much guessed that one from the fact she's letting you torch the place," Spike threw in dryly.  

A moan from the living room caught his attention, but it took him a moment to recognize the huddled mass by the fireplace for what it was.  

"Is that the boy wonder?" the vampire asked in wonder, slowly approaching the creature who used to be Riley Finn.  "Did one of your brain sucks on him, did you?  That must have been a quick nip."

"You ain't just whistlin' Dixie," Glory sighed.

Riley lifted his head and smiled at Spike, vaguely sensing something familiar about the being in front of him.

"Dogs are people too," the former commando confided, "when I paint my red door black."

Spike stared blankly at him for a moment.  He had no love for Riley Finn, and even if he had been capable of compassion for the downtrodden, the man before him had trod him down but good, once upon an Initiative.  But unlike Darla's little bombshell, which could all be laid at Angel's feet, Buffy could easily figure out a way that Riley's condition was actually Spike's fault.  She'd never told him to look out for the bloke; he hadn't even known the ex was back in town.  But that wouldn't matter too much to an enraged Slayer, not if Spike knew the breed.

"Perfect," the vampire grumbled.  "Just bleedin' perfect."

"Who's that?" Darla asked, strolling across the room to stand by Spike.  "Friend of yours?"

Spike snorted.  "You know me too well for that, pet.  No, he's the Slayer's boy-toy.  Or was."  He aimed a boot at Riley's hip, pulling back just before the foot connected, but the younger man didn't even flinch.  "Now I think he's more of a cat toy."

"Yeah, and he's getting on my nerves with that off-key singing," Glory snapped.  "So could you just let me burn the house down, and then we'll all be rid of him."

Darla turned quickly to Glory.  "I enjoy a good death scream as much as the next girl, but do you mind if I do the honors?"  She patted her abdomen again in subtle reminder.  "I'm killing for two, you know."

Glory sighed and gestured to the human.  "Fine, whatever.  Just be quick about it.  I really want to find the Slayer so I can get my Key back and get out of this boring little dimension.  But in order to do that..." she swung the gasoline can in a small circle, "I have to send up a smoke signal."

"I'll just be a minute," Darla promised.  

Spike was faced with an uncomfortable choice.  If the commando died, by either Glory or Darla's hand, Buffy would be angry...and Spike would be her practice target.  But to save him meant risking confrontation with either Glory or Darla himself, and over a man he'd gladly kill himself if he only could.  It was your basic lose-lose situation.

If he could only figure out a way to stall for time.  Just long enough for the Slayer to come back, or the hellmouth to open or the earth to swallow him whole...whatever came first.

"Maybe we ought to..." he began, hoping an ending to the sentence would occur to him once he got it rolling.

Darla morphed into her demonic visage before Spike could complete his thought.  She advanced on Riley, impatiently awaiting his scream of terror.  Instead, she received a happy smile...and an oustretched arm.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" she snarled, looking to Spike for answers.

Spike shrugged, not really wanting to go into the lengthy details.  He had to plan a diversion, dammit; he didn't have time to talk.

"You can never tell with these human creatures," Glory offered helpfully.  "Once they've given their brain, or what passes for a brain, over to me, what's left rattling around in the old noggin usually marches to its own tiny, weird little drummer.  You start to kill them and sometimes they scream.  Sometimes they recite the Declaration of Independence."  She shrugged.  "It's a toss-up."

"He's offering me his blood," Darla said accusingly.  "That's not reciting the Declaration."  She leaned down, staring at the proffered arm.  "He's been bitten before.  A lot."

"Yeah, well, he got a bit of a taste for it," Spike admitted grudgingly.  "Or got a taste for being tasted is more like it."

This wasn't much of a diversion, but maybe if he kept her chatting for a bit he could think of a way to stall for some time.  

"The Slayer's pet was some vampire's bitch?"  

"More like a paying customer."  Spike sneered down at his fallen rival for Buffy's good graces.  "Think he was working his way towards frequent flyer miles at the end there."

Darla's initial giggle turned into a full-fledged laugh.  "Oh that is too precious.  Now I just have to see her for a little girl talk."

"Good luck," Glory grumbled.  "I've been here forever and I haven't seen so much as an over-processed hair on her head.  I'm starting to wonder if even burning down the house will bring her out of hiding."  She glared at Spike.  "Assuming I ever get the chance to light the match, that is."

"Well, I don't want his blood if he's going to enjoy it.  He's human; that's just...creepy."  Darla waved her free meal away in disgust and focused on more important matters.  "I can't believe she's really not here.  I thought for sure Spike was lying to me."

"Would I do that to you?"  Spike attempted a sincere smile.  "Sis?"

Darla ignored him as she continued to ponder the problem.  "Have you looked for her friends?  Or her Watcher?  He should know where she is."  She glanced around the living room for a comfortable chair, finally settling on the sofa next to Merk as she continued to offer advice.  "He wouldn't want to tell you of course...but that's half the fun."

"All gone."  Glory turned her palms towards the ceiling.  "My minions have been scouring the town for them while I cooled my heels here, but no soap."

Darla tapped her chin thoughtfully.  "Hmm, so they've all run away together, leaving the ex and the wannabee behind."  Her fangs gleamed in the light from the floor lamp as a delicious thought popped into her head.  "There's only one place she could have gone.  Los Angeles."

Glory frowned, torn between wanting to know more and having to admit she, in all her godlike omniscience, didn't already know it.  Finally she gave in to the curiosity that existed alongside her less human traits.

"Why Los Angeles?  If I were her, just taking off like this, I'd head to some place good like St. Croix."

"But she's so much more...pedestrian than you or I," the vampire purred, sparing the hellgod a pitying smile along with the soothing hint of flattery. "And so very predictable.  If she's really in trouble, which of course you're making sure she is, then she'll head straight for the only one she thinks can save her."  She shook her head.  "Poor dear.  He can't even save himself, let alone her."

"Then you know where we can find her?"

Darla's smile was genuine this time as the term 'we' drifted into the conversation.

"Oh, I know precisely where 'we' can find her."  She cast a glance at the front window.  "But I don't think we're going to be able to do it for a few more hours, though," she turned back to Glory, "unless your car has tinted windows?"

Glory snorted and shook her head.  "I've been borrowing my...brother's...car since I've been in town.  Little Benny likes the poor but humble image; his car barely has windows at all."

"Mmm, well that is a problem."  The vampire lightly stroked her dead white cheek.  "I have a very delicate complexion, you see."  She sighed.  "I guess we'll have to amuse ourselves in boring old Sunnydale until the sun sets."

Glory hefted the gas can in the air, waving it back and forth like a semaphore.  "Should we see if the Slayer has any marshmallows?"

Spike swiftly inserted himself between Glory and Darla, reaching out with both hands to catch the swaying can.  "Okay, Sparky, since some of us are a mite more flammable than your average hellkitten, you want to give the splashing a rest?"  He nodded his head at the can he was fighting to take from her.  "That's not your favorite brand of two dollar perfume in there."

"And the smell of that gas is making me nauseous," Darla whined.  "I haven't thrown up in 400 years; I better not start now just because you want to build a campfire."

Glory snatched the can away from Spike, but after a momentary glare at Darla she reluctantly laid it to rest on the carpet.  "Fine," she huffed, "it was just a suggestion.  So how do you want to kill the time?"

Darla's gaze drifted around the small room, taking in all the careful homey touches that spoke volumes about the people who lived there.  Family photographs on the mantel, an antique quilt over a quilt rack in the corner, abandoned schoolbooks left open on the coffee table.

"Well," she answered slowly, "just because we're not going to burn the place down around us doesn't mean we can't redecorate."  

She stretched her hand out to pick up a small, obviously handmade, vase from the end table.  Taking careful aim, she hurled it at the mantel just above Riley's head, beaming when the shattered fragments rained down upon his quivering form.  

"And then, we send out for dinner," she mused.  "I have a feeling we're going to need all our energy tonight."

* * * * *

To Be Continued 


	5. Chapter 5

Epiphanies for Sale Part 5 

By Gem

"Yo!  Anybody home?"

Wesley hurried out of the office when he heard the shout from the lobby.

"Gunn," the former Watcher said with some asperity, "where have you been?  I've been calling you for the last half-hour."

Gunn looked at him in surprise.  "Matter of fact, I was on my way here.  But nobody told me I had to check in before I left home; is that some new rule?"

"No, of course not."  Wesley shook his head impatiently.  "But a new case has arisen and I require some assistance."  He glanced around the otherwise empty lobby, his eyes unwillingly following the railing up the stairs towards the bedrooms.  "I seem to be in this one alone."

Gunn shook his head, moving purposefully towards the office and the weapons closet.  "Sorry, Wes.  I'm just making a quick stop to pick up my favorite axe.  My boys found a nest on the other side of town, so we're off to hunt wabbits...or should I say 'wampires'?"

Wesley spared a small, pained smile at Gunn's jest as he followed the younger man into the office.  "Most amusing, I'm sure.  And I am equally sure your 'boys', as you call them, can manage to clean up one small nest without you and your faithful axe.  I, on the other hand, am forced to contend not only with a rampant demon about whom there is no written documentation, but also the renewal of love's young dream.  It has been," he said, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, "quite the afternoon."

Gunn turned form the weapons closet, axe in hand.  "Love's young what?  Speak English, English."

"He means Buffy," Cordelia offered as she strolled in from the lobby.  "Angel's Buffy...as though any other sane person would have her.  Not that Angel's always the portrait of sanity either, but..."

"Whoa, back up."  Gunn held up his free hand.  "Angel's got a girl; when did that happen?  Wait, she's not evil or anything is she?  Like that Darla chick?"

"No," Cordelia answered with a regretful sigh.  "She's actually the one who kills things like Darla."

"She's the Vampire Slayer," Wesley explained.  "The one girl in all the world with the strength and...oh forget it."  He sighed as he sank down into the leather chair behind the desk.  "Even I weary of the rhetoric these days; it seems so...unreal."

"Pop-up video version?"  Cordelia began to tick off the high points on her fingers.  "She was destined to kill vampires, except she fell in love with Angel's soul, not to mention the way he looks in a pair of leather pants.  He loves her too, but they can't be together because he'll lose his soul if he gets too happy, which, eww, she makes him when they have sex.  The word 'sex' comes from the Latin..."

"Cordelia," Wesley said repressively.

"What?  Am I wrong?  I thought every word originally came from Latin at some point or another."

"I believe Gunn gets the general idea, Cordelia."  Wesley raised an eyebrow at her.  "And if he doesn't know about sex, it is not your place to...that is to say it's not my place to say that it's not your place to say...but this isn't the place to say it."

"Says you," she retorted, making a face at him.

Gunn took pity on the blushing Watcher and decided to steer the conversation back to the original subject.  It had, of course, nothing to do with any ideas he might have once had about Cordelia; ideas that proved too awkward to explore when they began working together on a daily basis.

Nope, nothing at all to do with that, he reassured himself.

"So Angel's ex is in town..."

"Along with a party of favorites," Cordelia interrupted.

"And you're not stoked about it," Gunn finished with a smile.  He sat on the edge of the desk, bouncing the axe handle on the edge of his knee.  "You two duke it out over the big guy at some point?  That where the bad blood comes in?"

"Oh please," Cordelia scoffed.  "You've seen the man's taste in women: short blondes who think he's God's gift.  I, on the other hand, am the tall brunette..." she reached up to touch her highlighted locks, "well mostly brunette, sidekick.  A.K.A. Vision Girl."  She sat up suddenly, her voice dropping to a horrified whisper.  "Oh god, I'm Drusilla, aren't I?  I'm like Drusilla with marbles...and better taste in men."

Wesley sighed; this was hardly a new thought to him, but for all their sakes' it could not be encouraged.

"Cordelia, you are nothing like Drusilla," he said soothingly.  "You're much...taller."

"And my fashion sense is way better," she mused, slowly settling back in her chair.  "And did I mention the taste in men?  Not even in the same zip code."

"So it wasn't Angel you girls got the fingernails out for; that's what I'm asking," Gunn interjected.

"Like Angel would be the reason not to like Buffy."  She cocked her head to the side and paused to think her denial through.  "Okay, well, in a way he is, but only because she has a bad effect on him.  You've never seem in him full-blown Buffy-brood...which he will be in approximately five seconds after he solves whatever little problem brought her here and she decides to head back to her precious normal life."

Gunn looked at her strangely.  "But I thought you said she hunted vampires for a living.  How do you get to normal from that neighborhood?"

"Search me."  Cordelia's sigh was drowned out by the sudden shrill of the telephone.  As she leaned over to pick it up from the far edge of the desk, she continued to explain.  "But she...and he...seem to think the slaying should only be this little bitty part of her life.  The rest of the time she's supposed to be as normal as finding stale pretzels in your couch three months after football season is over."  She held her free hand over the mouthpiece of the raised telephone as she cast a hard glance at the two men.  "Which, by the way, better not happen again next year if you two know what's good for you."

* * * * *

"I can't believe you," Buffy growled.  "All this time, all that's happened to both of us, and you still think I can go back to being Cherry Cheerleader."  A soft pink glow quickly stained her cheeks.  "I didn't, uh, exactly, mean the, umm, 'cher...well, it just sort of, umm, sounded good...at least in my head."

Angel shook his head to clear it; they had been going round in circles about this for so long he was actually beginning to feel dizzy.

"Buffy, we've been over this a thousand times, together and separately.  I know you will always have some parts of your life that are...strange."  He paused, searching for a word other than 'abnormal,' but none were springing to mind.  "You're the Slayer," he continued, abandoning his quest and taking another tack.  "That's part of the deal.  But you have always wanted a life beyond that; don't try to pretend you haven't."

"Of course I have, but I want you to be that part for me," she said urgently.  "And I'm supposed to be that part for you.  That's the way it works."

He tenaciously held his ground, even though he wanted nothing more than to agree with her, and be with her, for the rest of his days.

"You have so much else going on in your life right now; things I can't even imagine.  You're 20 years old; you need to focus on school and your friends and career plans and..." 

Angel's words skidded to a halt as he remembered her first career, and the constraints it placed on any other.  But Buffy had her mind set on another side of his argument, an area where she considered him to be gravely misinformed.

"Angel, my birth certificate may say I'm 20, but I'm ages older than the other kids I know.  They think about all the things you think I'm supposed to, like parties and exams and how to mix the two without your parents freaking.  But I am the parent now.  While they're flipping a coin to choose between chem. test and kegger, I'm trying to decide between saving the world and going to Parent/Teacher Night.  That's the stuff you can't imagine."

He reached out and stroked her cheek.  "I'm sorry, Buffy.  I know things have been hard for you since your mom died, even harder than before."

"And you could make them easier," she insisted, pressing more firmly against his side.  

"How?"  In one bewildered syllable he put all of his grief and frustration at failing her yet again.  

"You just do," she said helplessly.  "When we're together...it's like nothing else matters.  Nothing can touch me.  It's just you and me."

"And then the vampire strikes...or the demon ascends...or the sun rises...and we're back to reality."  Angel took her hands in his; mourning the chill that now suffused her body.  "I'm not one of Willow's magic charms, Buffy.  You and I being together solves only one problem: us not being together."

She forced a watery smile, sensing she was losing this battle but unwilling to admit it.  "I'll take it."

"I want more for you."

Buffy pulled her hands away from him and got to her feet.  She had known Angel would be stubborn; she had told herself she was prepared for it.  But deep in her heart, she had cherished the idea that once he saw her again, once they could really talk things through, he would be helpless in the face of her arguments.  He would sweep her into his arms and admit that he couldn't survive another minute without her.

It seemed they still had a lot of work to do before she was going to get that whole sweeping idea into his head.

"You want more for me," she said, mustering all her confidence, "but you also want me.  I know you do, Angel; I can still see it in your eyes when you look at me."  

He swallowed, trying to ignore the rush of heat that surged through his body at her words.  

"I never said I didn't," he told her quietly.  "I still love you, Buffy.  But I'm not sure I'm what you need anymore.  Even though you are the best thing that ever happened to me...I don't think you can say the same about me."

"That's so not true!" she protested immediately.  "You've taught me so much, about life as well as slaying.  And you make me see what I'm fighting for."  She sat down beside him again, winding her arms around his arm.  "I fight so people can have another day to do this...to talk to the people they love...and hold them...and be with them."  She rested her cheek against his shoulder.  "You make me see that because you gave it to me every time we were together.  You still do."

Angel's hand rose involuntarily, settling in the warm curve of her neck.  Gently, his thumb caressed the line of her jaw as he let himself be submerged in the depths of her loving eyes.

"I knew it.  I just knew it.  She's not even here a day and you're already on the bed together."

* * * * *

Angel tore his eyes away from the sight of Buffy's blonde head lying warmly against his shoulder to behold a much frostier vision in the doorway.  Buffy was slower to respond, making a great production of lifting her head to turn an icy glare of her own on Cordelia.

"We were having a private conversation, Cordelia," the Slayer said with biting clarity.  "Private.  As in no help from the studio audience."

"Then you shouldn't have brought one with you, and then left me to baby-sit," the former cheerleader snapped.  "We do have work to do here, you know; I can't spend all my time finding another pillow for Anya and checking to see if Wesley has any of Giles' favorite tea in the kitchen."

Angel raised an eyebrow at her.  "You've been playing hostess?  You didn't have to do that, Cordelia; I would have taken care of everything."

"Yes you will," she replied, suddenly serene.  "Like I said, I don't have time to be fetching and fluffing.  Actually neither do you, but as you've made a point to mention, they're your guests."

"Was there an actual reason you interrupted us?" Buffy asked sharply.  "Or are you planning on running in every few minutes just to check up on us?"

"Oh, and like that would be a bad idea?" Cordelia eyed her sourly.  "You already looked pretty cozy when I came in; who knows how far things would have gone if I'd waited a few more minutes?"  She sniffed loudly, and continued before Buffy had a chance to respond, "Besides, there wasn't time to wait for you to come downstairs again."

"Why?"

"What's happened?"

Cordelia held up her hands as though to forcibly resist their questions.  "The Host called," she said quietly.  "There's been another sighting of his demon...a Drokken, I think he called it."

Angel nodded impatiently at the name.

"Apparently the little dickens, er Drokken, is way into hunt mode and the park looked like a smorgasbord.  A running, screaming smorgasbord."

"Dammit!" Angel cursed below his breath.  "I shouldn't have made you wait to go after it."

"Hey, you had every reason to be cautious," Buffy interrupted.  "I know he's your friend and all, but that Host guy was out-tapping Shirley Temple on the whole 'is it dangerous' question."

He couldn't help a quick, and slightly bitter, laugh as he shook his head.  "I think you're overestimating how well my brain works when you're around.  The truth is, I just wanted to come along because..."

Buffy could feel his guilt and frustration, but she thought a small smile was worth the risk.  "Just because," she suggested, lightly stroking his arm.  "I get it.  See me complaining."

"We kind of lucked out, actually," Cordelia offered.  "There was so much confusion, what with all the aforementioned running and screaming, that he couldn't really focus on any one target.  There were lots of injuries, but no fatalities."

"So far."  Angel looked down at Buffy, knowing she would understand but still hating to be the one to say it.  "Buffy, we need to..."

"Postpone our little talk," she finished for him.  "I know.  Duty calls."

"No, duty screams like a woman," Cordelia corrected her, "and he has an English accent.  Wesley wants to see you."

* * * * *

"What do you mean he comes from another dimension?"  Wesley took off his glasses and tossed them on the desk before he ran his hand through his already disheveled hair.  "Don't you think it would have been helpful to mention that before I started trying to research him?"

"Wes, calm down," Angel said, gesturing for Wesley to resume his seat behind the desk.  "I'm sorry your research didn't turn up anything, but it's not like I knew he wouldn't be in there.  We do have a pretty good collection."

"Yes, it's most impressive," Giles murmured from the doorway.  "I'm sorry; I don't mean to interrupt, but I thought perhaps I could borrow some reference materials that might make mention of Glory."

Angel waved to the overflowing bookcases.  "Our library is yours, Giles.  Help yourself."

"And maybe help us," Buffy suggested.  "Listen, Glory isn't here and this Drokken is, so why don't we all change gears for a day or two?  Focus on the local talent first and then start borrowing trouble from the 'burbs."

"A Drokken, you say?"  Giles looked curious, and intrigued, as he made his way past Gunn and Cordelia into the center of the congested office.  "I don't believe I've ever heard of the creature."

"None of us had before today," Angel explained.  "They come from a dimension called Pylea...that was the name, right?" he asked Buffy.  After she nodded, he continued, "All we know is what we've been told; they're hunters and they're very strong."

"And they're not really big on personal hygiene," Buffy added.  "That Host guy said you don't want to be caught with one in a dark alley or an unventilated room."

"He came through a portal; that's how the Host got here and we're assuming the Drokken came the same way.  Apparently these portals can be generated, but they also occur spontaneously.  He thinks the Drokken just stumbled through one and he'll go through anyone or anything he thinks is in his way to getting to another one."

"So we could either kill him, or simply send him back the way he came.  Interesting."  Giles tapped his chin thoughtfully as tried to pace in the small square of space allotted to him in the overcrowded office.

Buffy glanced quickly at Angel for a silent conference before she answered Giles.  "Umm, your friend seemed to think killing him was the way to go.  And after the beastie's little temper tantrum in the park...well, in my experience, death usually is the quickest way to stop the bad guy."

"And the most permanent," Cordelia added.  "I'm with Buffy.  Crush, kill, destroy."  She waved her fist in the air.  "Go team."

Angel looked uncomfortable as he contradicted his beloved.  "Buffy, normally I'd agree with you, but Giles might be on to something with this idea of sending the Drokken back where he came from."

"I wasn't precisely suggesting..." Giles began, before Buffy's voice overrode him.

"Are you serious?"

"We have no reason to believe he came here deliberately, or that he even wants to be here."  The vampire frowned as he saw the storm clouds gathering in Buffy's eyes.  "Buffy, you're the vampire slayer, and I know sometimes that also entails protecting our world from other types of demons.  But I just think maybe we should send this demon back to face whoever is in charge of protecting his world."

"Oh man, now there's a prime directive in demon hunting too?"  Gunn shook his head.  "This game was a lot simpler before I hooked up with y'all."  

"We could at least look into it," Wesley offered, heroically throwing himself into the fray.  "We do have two talented witches with us, I believe.  Perhaps they could investigate ways to create these portals, with the help of the Host, while the rest of us concentrate on containing the beast."  He nodded at Buffy.  "And, of course, killing it if it becomes necessary."

"Put me down for the containing part," Gunn offered, getting to his feet.  "Most of my boys already left to stamp out that vampire nest, but I might be able to round up a few..."

"That's probably not a good idea," Buffy broke in.  She glanced quickly at Angel before adding, "If we're going to believe what your little green monster says, this Drokken is pretty strong, as in beyond human strong.  I think you'd better wait and come with Angel and me when the sun sets."  She checked her watch.  "It shouldn't be that much longer."

Angel scratched his head as he began to pace back and forth in front of the doorway.  "What bothers me is the Host's insistence on killing it.  He's a pretty live-and-let-live kind of guy, but he wanted this thing dead and fast.  There's something he's not telling us."

* * * * *

"Look, Landok, I told you I already have some people working on it.  Friends of mine, actually.  They're good, too; they'll find that Drokken and beat its little brain cell in.  You don't have to worry; you can just," the Host made a pushing gesture towards the door, "skedaddle.  Take the next portal to Pylea and get off my back."  He froze for an instant, realizing he might have set off his cousin's volatile temper.  "And, you know, give my regards to your folks."

He tried adding a bright smile, but its impact was lost upon his guest.

"I have tracked this beast a great distance, Krevlorneswath.  Across universes I have followed him; through strange grey-walled passages filled with stampeding cattle and shrieking metal boxes have I trailed in his wake..."

"Yeah, you caught rush hour traffic on your first day in town; I'll admit that was bad luck."  Lorne waved away his cousin's impassioned recital.  "The important thing is that you don't need to be here.  You can go back home.  You know, before anybody else decides to follow you."  He glanced uneasily at his apartment door, as though expecting hordes of uninvited relatives to storm the gates at any moment.

"Do you fear to face our family so much?"  The disgust in Landok's voice was almost palpable.

"No, what I fear is that they'll never leave.  I'm not asking for much, Ducky," he said with a sigh, pretending not to notice Landok's scowl at the childhood nickname.  "I just want to run my club, and do my readings and sing a song or two.  Now is it so horrible to want to do that without my family raiding the bar for free drinks and shrieking every time a patron gets up for a little Aretha-therapy?"

Landok regarded his younger cousin silently for a moment.  Krevlorneswath was a disgrace to the Deathwok clan, and to the very planet of his birth.  But perhaps there was something to be said for having him remain here, alone, rather than return to Pylea and shame the family still further with his strange ways.

There was also something to be said for keeping the rest of the family away from this world Krevlorneswath had chosen for his new home.  A few days here and the entire clan could become contaminated.  They could bring back poetry and painting and music to Pylea, returning it to the cultural wonderland of ancient legends.  Soon the very cattle would be dancing in the streets.

The thought was enough to make Landok shiver.

"I will hunt the Drokken," he said, raising an autocratic hand to forestall objections.  "I will hunt for the space of one cycle of the great moon goddess Kahatoofra, and if I have not killed the beast by that time, I will return to Pylea and leave it to these...friends...as you call them."  His following sniff indicated both the unlikelihood that he would not accomplish his task, and the even greater unlikelihood that Krevlornswath had actual friends.

"Umm, Ducky...sorry, Landok...there is just one moon and one golden sun in this neighborhood, and Kahatoofra doesn't play planet Earth.  The sky is going to get really dark, and then it's going to get really light again.  Go out when it gets dark, and be back when it starts getting lighter."

"One moon?"  Landok was horrified.

"I know, I know; it's pretty primitive, but what can you do?"  The Host shrugged philosophically.  "The most important thing is that if you see other people, umm, cows, hunting the Drokken, stay back.  They're my friends and I'd really rather you didn't run into each other.  Too many explanations."

"Hmmm," Landok grunted, but he made no promises.

Lorne sighed again.  Family; it didn't matter what planet you came from, there was just no pleasing them.

* * * * *

Cordelia marched into the lobby, portable phone in hand.  She was not happy to note that Angel and Buffy were sitting very close together again on one of the couches; in fact Buffy seemed to almost be sitting in Angel's lap.  Well, she admitted to herself a moment later, the Slayer wasn't quite in her ex's lap; more like pressed up against his side without a centimeter of space between them and clinging to his arm like he was going to drift up into the chandelier if she didn't hold him down.

But not, Cordelia grudgingly supposed, sitting on his lap.  Not technically anyway.

"Hey Cordy," Gunn called out, pulling his head out of the weapons closet.  "We're just about to make tracks.  Any luck getting the Jolly Green Demon on the phone?"

"I might have," she sniffed, "if I didn't have to play answering service for the new hotel guests."  She scowled at Buffy, tapping her foot in irritation.

Buffy frowned, suddenly at a loss.  "What are you talking about?  Everybody's here."  She released Angel's arm and quickly stood up as a sobering thought flashed into her head.  "Did Dawn go somewhere?  Isn't she with Willow?"

The genuine fear in Buffy's eyes softened Cordelia's irritation, if only briefly.  Taking a few steps further into the lobby, she held out the portable phone to the anxious Slayer.  

"Relax; as of five minutes ago she was fine and whooping it up with Tara and a deck of cards.  I was talking about Spike."  Her upper lip curled as she uttered the name; one vampire was about all she could handle on a daily basis.

Buffy took the phone after a quick glance at Angel that she regretted almost immediately.  He looked so concerned, and she knew that Spike was only calling to harass her for leaving him behind; she was almost tempted to hang up without speaking to the vampire at all.  But five years and then some in the slayer game had taught her that things were not always as they seemed, and even Spike occasionally had his uses.

"Okay, Spike," she sighed into the phone, "this better be good."

* * * * *

Good.  She wanted good.  Spike couldn't believe his ears.

The Summers house was a wreck; in Spike's mind this was both good and bad.  Bad because Buffy would be angry, but good because it wouldn't be him she'd pummel for it.  Not that he minded a bit of rough-and-tumble with the girl, but without the tumble part, what was the point?

Now she wanted to know what was wrong; why he'd interrupted her precious reunion with Soul Boy to bother her with his pesky problems.  As though he wasn't doing her a favor, and sticking his own lily-white neck out to do it.

"Good?" he snapped into the portable phone, shifting the fingers that were holding the batteries in place in order to bark into the mouthpiece.  "You want 'good' you can hire a bleedin' cheering section.  I'm just trying to give you the head's up, Slayer."

He could hear another sigh whistling through the wires; making a great show of patience for her lover-boy, she was.  

"About what?" she asked slowly, grinding out the words.

"Seems your little vanishing act hasn't gone unnoticed," he said smugly.  "Someone was here looking for you...and she wasn't too happy to have missed you either.  Made a god-awful fuss about it, if you know what I mean."

There was a hollow silence, followed by a flurry of whispers on the other end of the line.  Even with his vampiric hearing, Spike couldn't make out the words, only the deeper tones of his sire's voice overlapping the Slayer's.

"Glory was there?" Buffy asked, at last returning her attention to Spike.  "In my house?"

Spike thought of the living room; parts of which were now embedded in the wall next to the staircase.  And then there was the kitchen, which had merged with the dining room thanks to some creative rearranging of major appliances.  The upstairs only survived unscathed because the hellgod had gotten bored.

"She was all over it, pet," he said.  "I barely stopped her from torching the place, as a matter of fact."

"And what were you doing there when you knew no one was going to be home?"  Suspicion once again sharpened the Slayer's voice.  "And by the way, just where did you get this number?"

He weighed his options quickly.  He could tell her the full truth, Darla and all, and prepare her somewhat for the battle ahead.  That plan, of course, also meant that Spike was going to take at least part of the blame for bringing Darla and Glory together in the first place, not to mention the little problem of how he got the phone number.

And it's not like Darla was planning on killing her anyway, he reasoned.  She just wanted to rub the little twit's nose in her foolish choice of 'soulmate.'  Hardly life-threatening for anybody...except Angel.

That brought him to option two, which involved a little editing, a little condensation, and a much greater chance of escaping the whole mess with all his favorite body parts intact.  Not to mention a chance to pick up the pieces when the Slayer exploded and Angel imploded.  Pick up Slayer pieces, that is, and a fine piece she was too.  Tasty and ready and ripe for the plucking...and several other, equally active, verbs.

"Think I don't know you'd keep Peaches' number in your undie drawer?" he drawled, running his fingers through the same as he spoke.  "Not the most original hiding place, pet."

"How many times have I told you to stay out of my underwear?" she snapped.

Spike could hear Angel's growl reverberate through the phone lines, a nerve-wracking baseline accompaniment to the Slayer's shrill tones.  Time to move on to phase two of the plan, the blond vampire decided, hastily removing his hand and closing the drawer.

"She's on her way to LA now, just in case you're interested; left about five minutes ago."  He raised his voice to be heard over the fading echo of Angel's displeasure.  "Don't you want to know how she knew where to find you?  It was your soldier boy that spilled the beans, not me.  I just kept her from setting the house afire, and him along with it, I might add."

"What are you talking about?"  Spike had her full attention now.  "Riley was there, in the house, with Glory?  He told...how could he tell?  He doesn't know where Angel lives."

Spike gave himself a hearty pat on the back.  She was successfully diverted from the searching through the panties issue and on to rage at someone else.  He might not be the best at stalling for time, but when it came to shifting blame, he was the champ.

"And what makes you think he doesn't know?  Because he didn't tell you that he did?  He works for the government, luv, and not the part that files forms on everything it does and knows."

"But he wouldn't tell her," Buffy said stubbornly.  "He wouldn't give Dawn away, even if he was mad at me."

Spike wanted to concoct an elaborate tale of revenge that would leave her despising young Master Finn for all her days.  That, however, would not get him a free ticket to LA.

"She brain-sucked him," he said bluntly instead.  "Pulled the address out like an oyster from its shell, I'll wager.  He was just a heap of wrinkled camouflage by the time I got here."  

That much, at least, was true.  He felt it added a certain ring of truth to the story if he included just a bit of, well, the truth.

"He's dead?"

"Weren't you listening?"  Spike's voice sharpened as he detected remorse in her voice.  Why should she care if Rebound Guy was the late Rebound Guy?  "I said she brain-sucked him; she didn't kill him.  He's not five feet from me now, happy as a clam...and about as good at the times tables."

Riley smiled from the floor as a random word penetrated his foggy consciousness.

"Clams sing the body electric," he chirped, waiting for a sign of approval from his companion.  "They celebrate good times, come what may."

"Enough!" the vampire snapped, slamming his hand down on the top of the dresser.  "Enough with the bleeding retro medley.  Show's over, so shut up."

Riley quickly subsided, his chin falling to rest on his upraised knees as he hugged his legs tight to his chest.  A slight whimper took the place of his off-key warblings.

"Oh for cryin' out loud," Spike grumbled.  "Slayer, I'm not spending another minute with him on my own.  Tell me how to find you so I can drop this basket case off on your doorstep."

There was a long pause as Buffy consulted with Angel.  Spike waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on the hard wood of the dresser.  Everything the girl had seemed to be made of wood:  dresser, chairs, bed frame, jewelry boxes.  Made a fellow feel downright unwelcome, it did.

"Spike, I don't think it would be a good idea if Riley stays here if Glory is coming too," Buffy finally came back to say.  "You know the people she's brain-sucked are the only ones who can see Dawn as the Key, and I don't want him saying something before we can...deal with her."

This was not the way the plan worked; this was not the answer Spike had been counting on.  Still he did have one ace up his sleeve, or rather, up Riley's sleeve.

"Well then, pet, what do you expect him to do?" the vampire drawled.  "Can't say as I've much respect for the brains of his superiors, but I doubt even they'd trust him with a gun right now."

"You take care of him," Buffy answered quickly.  "Willow will work on a spell to cure him; there has to be some way.  But until she can figure it out, or until we get back, you take care of him."

Spike snorted, genuinely amused by her suggestion, even though he'd been expecting it.

"Oh right, trust the vamp who hates his guts to keep those guts inside his body?  You're a very funny girl, Slayer."

"I trust you to know what will happen to you if you don't," she answered, her voice as sweet and cold as frozen Popsicle on a hot summer day.

"I suppose I could look after him."  He paused, pretending to be intimidated by her threat.  "But then, if I'm looking after him full-time like...and it would be full-time, trust me; he's got the IQ of a dead potted plant right about now...if I was to do that, I wouldn't be able to go out and get anything to eat.  Not a drop."  

"You can't hurt him, Chip Boy.  Don't even try to play that card."

She sounded smug, but he was about to take care of that.

"I don't know that it would be hurting him, since he sort of likes a little fang action.  If I'm not looking to hurt him, only get a bit of a snack to keep us both healthy...and he's all but begging me to bite him...I'm not sure the chip would have much to say in the matter."  Spike waited a beat before adding, "What say we test it and I let you know?"

She didn't bother to check with Angel this time, or if she did it was not with words.  Scarcely a moment passed before she groaned, "All right.  Bring Riley here.  But if I find one mark on him," she continued more strongly, "you're going to become one with the pollen before you can say 'god bless you'."

"Oh right," he sneered.  "Like I spend a lot of time dropping that one into conversations."

"Just take care of him, Spike.  Now get a pen so I can give you directions."

He pulled open her dresser drawer again, letting his fingers linger in the cool silk of a colorfully patterned pair of panties.

"Not a problem, luv," he murmured.  "You left a set of them right in your nightstand."

* * * * *

Buffy clicked off the portable phone with a trembling finger.  Things were happening too fast; too many parts of her separate worlds were on a collision course; everything was coming apart.

Except Angel.  He was the one stable thing she had to hold on to.  Somehow he would get her through.

"So Spike and Riley are coming here," Angel murmured, running a hand over his hair and resisting the urge to pull it all out as long as his fingers were in the neighborhood.  "And Glory; can't forget her.  Why do I think I should have just driven to Sunnydale and saved everybody else the gas and tolls to come here?"

Buffy laid her hand on his arm, smiling up at him with complete trust.

"I'm really sorry about having to bring Riley here, but I can't trust Spike with him.  I know it will be awkward, but...he needs help."  She shrugged, her smile turning pleading.  "I can't turn him away; he would never have been there for Glory to attack if I hadn't gotten him involved in my life in the first place."

"Buffy, it's not your fault," he said swiftly, reaching out to cup her cheek in his cool palm.  "She may have attacked him today because he was in your house, but she could have gotten him any time, any place, before, for no other reason than she wanted to."  He sighed, letting his hand fall back to his side.  "As for Spike...well, he turns up where he wants to as well."

"Yeah, well, he'd better keep his red-hot pokers in his suitcase this time or he's not going to like where I put them away," Cordelia snapped.  

"Red-hot pokers?"  Buffy glanced at Cordelia in alarm before following the former cheerleader's eyes back to Angel.  "What is she talking about, Angel?"

"Yeah, what are you talking about?" Gunn piped up from the corner.

"Nothing," Angel answered quickly, shooting a quelling glance at Cordelia.

Not quelling enough, however.

"Pokers," Cordelia said calmly, "fresh from the oven.  Spike had them, Angel had that big ugly Gem of Amaryllis and Spike figured he'd trade."  She mimed a jabbing motion towards Angel's stomach.

"Ouch," Gunn said, pressing a hand on his own stomach in sympathetic pain.

"Oh god," Buffy moaned, covering her mouth with her hand.  "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"There was nothing to tell."  Angel reached out and pulled her hand away from her mouth, holding it captive in his own.  "He tried to get the ring, I destroyed it, and he went back to Sunnydale.  As far as I'm concerned, the only real problem was that last part."

She shook her head emphatically, visions of what must have happened whirling through her head.  It was her fault, all her fault, no matter what Angel said.  

"I never should have sent the ring," she insisted.  "I should have brought it myself and made sure you got it safely.  I was just...just too scared to see you."  Her face fell as she looked back to those long ago days, days not so very different from this one.  "I was scared that if I saw you...I wouldn't be able to let you go again."

"Buffy, it's over.  It was over a long time ago."

She smiled painfully, knowing he was only referring to the ring incident.  "It's just one more entry in the long list of things I wish I'd done differently."

He couldn't help himself; audience or not, danger or not, he had to hold her.  He reached out his long arms and pulled her close, murmuring into her hair, "Want to trade lists?  I bet mine's longer."

Cordelia caught enough of his soft-spoken comment to scent danger in the air; not that she'd been expecting any less since she learned about their upcoming guests.

"Hey," she snapped, "there will be no measuring of anything around here; are we clear on that?"

Buffy burrowed her face in the silk of his shirt, taking just a moment to enjoy the familiar coolness of it, and him, against her cheek.  Too soon, though, she forced herself to ask the question that sprang into her mind the moment she heard about Spike's previous LA trip.

"Angel," she murmured into his shoulder, "what else haven't you told me?"

She felt him stiffen in her arms and start to pull away.  Reluctantly she let him release his hold on her and dropped her own arms as well.

"What do you mean?" he asked nervously.

"That happened almost a year-and-a-half ago and you never said a word.  You wouldn't have said anything now if Cordy hadn't forced you into it.  It kind of makes me wonder what else you're holding onto because you think it might hurt me."

Hurt her, make her angry, send her memory and ego back to his old apartment the morning after her 17th birthday...the choices were many and the results all equally painful in Angel's silent estimation.  

"A lot has happened to both of us, Buffy," he began with difficulty.  "There are some...things...that maybe we should talk about.  But not now."

"Well thanks for that at least," Cordy said sharply.  "Do I have to remind you that a ticked-off hellgod is coming to call...as though having to put up with Spike and Buffy's rebound reject weren't bad enough?"

"How did you know about Glory?" Buffy asked, throwing an unhappy glance in Angel's direction.

The vampire shrugged, as much in the dark as she, and slightly hurt that she would be so quick to distrust him.  "I didn't tell her, Buffy.  You made it clear it wasn't supposed to be general knowledge."

"Dawn told me," Cordelia said flatly, "though Angel should have.  She thought it was a big joke when I asked her how it felt to be back in her old hometown, so she told me where she really came from."

"You didn't need to know, Cordelia."

"Get serious, Angel.  You invite Typhoid Buffy and her sister, the Key to Armageddon, to stay here with us and it's not my business?  You're doing it again, just like before, and you promised that you..."

"Stop, just stop," Buffy snarled.  "We have enough to deal with right now without you using my problems to beat Angel over the head with.  He kept quiet because I asked him to, and I appreciate that."  She glared at Cordelia.  "Learn the word, Cordy.  Ap-pre-ci-ate."

"So it's okay if he keeps things from us, but you're supposed to get the breakdown of his life one corpuscle at a time?"

Buffy turned back to Angel, gazing steadily into the depths of his quiet eyes.  "I trust Angel to know what would hurt me more to know than not to know...and to respect me enough to tell me anyway."

"Oh that's not putting him too much on the spot, is it?"  Cordelia scowled at Buffy, after one quick glance at Angel's stricken face.  "And you're ready to sue me for emotional damage?"

"This is getting us nowhere," Angel said loudly, before any more verbal daggers could be thrown.  "Obviously we have to put our discussion on hold for right now, Buffy, so we can take care of Glory."

"And the Drokken," Gunn added, waving a broadsword.

"And Riley," Buffy chimed in gloomily.  "All we need now is a yawning hellmouth and some jelly doughnuts and the time warp is complete."

"Sorry, no hellmouth," Angel said, "but I might be able to swing the doughnuts if you say pretty please."

"Don't even start with the kinky innuendos," Cordelia warned.  "Look, what do you need me to do, Angel?  Am I on the Glory team, catching a demon by the tail, or babysitting the brain-drained?"

Buffy looked at her former classmate in silent wonder.  Cordelia had switched from bitch-mode to willing helper without batting an eye, and Angel's eyelashes didn't seem to be kicking up any breeze over the transformation either.  It was almost as though he expected it.

"We need to get Dawn out of here," Buffy said slowly, forcing herself from her silent contemplation.  "She can't be here when Glory is here, especially if Riley might be here too."

"Fine," Cordelia answered crisply.  "She was going to go shopping with Willow and Tara; I'll take her instead.  It makes more sense anyway."  She shrugged and smiled.  "I mean Tara and Willow are from out of town, and Dawn was built by a bunch of monks; how would any of them know where to find a decent pair of shoes?"

"Take Tara too," Buffy suggested.  "Dawn doesn't know you, and it will seem suspicious to her if you're the only one going with her."  She glanced anxiously at Angel.  "I don't want her to know Glory is coming."

He laid his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.  "Cordelia will take good care of her," he promised, "and Dawn won't have time to get a question in edgewise about why Willow isn't with them."

"Don't underestimate her," Buffy warned.  "She's the queen of awkward questions."

Cordelia tossed her hair and smiled in comfortable superiority.  "And I am the queen of...pretty much everything else."

This time Buffy could laugh at Cordelia's change of gears.  "And they say you can't go home again."

* * * * *

"Can't this thing go any faster?" Darla complained.  "Because if it can't, I'm going to need to stop for a snack soon."

Glory pointed to Merk riding quietly in the back seat of the limo.  "He's all yours...as long as you don't drain him.  He does come in handy sometimes."

Darla made a face.  "I need human blood, not...whatever he is."  She rubbed her belly.  "I am eating for two, you know, and you scared away my last snack with your little rampage through the Slayer's house."

"I told you to check the closets," Glory said mildly, changing lanes without bothering to signal to the cars behind her.  Over the ensuing screech of tires and crash of colliding metal, she continued, "I'm sure he was in one of them with that funny little blond vampire you came in with."

"Spike wasn't in a closet," Darla sighed, "or if he was it was only to sniff the clothes.  "If I know him, and sadly, I do...he was taking the opportunity to play with his new dolly's unmentionables."

Glory looked the vampire curiously.  "He has a thing for the Slayer?  Really?"

"Really," Darla confirmed with a nod.  "Terrible embarrassment, of course; I mean it's not even like he has a soul to excuse him.  He just...thrives on rejection."

The hellgod nodded sagely.  "An attitude like that can take someone like him a very long way."

"Mmm," Darla agreed absently, rubbing her abdomen again as she looked out of the window.  "Are we there yet?"

* * * * *

Cordelia slipped away to corral Dawn and Tara for a shopping trip, and to send Willow and the others down to the office for a war council.  Buffy took advantage of the sudden migrations to do some slipping of her own, firmly taking Angel by the hand and pulling him upstairs before he had time to think of a protest.  Before any more demons came a calling, before the onslaught of irate hellgods and horny vampires, there were things that needed to be said.  

She gently pushed Angel in the bedroom ahead of her and made sure the door was completely closed behind her before she turned back to him.  The Scoobies had enough trouble understanding the purpose of locking doors; even a partially open room meant an open invitation to them.

"I just want to be clear about something before we go out Drokken trawling," she warned, slowly walking across the room towards her beloved.  "The stuff we were talking about before...not only the me/you stuff, but also the you by yourself/me by myself stuff...we're nowhere near done with it.  In fact, I think we've got more to talk about than I even knew."

Angel's jaw worked as he thought of the past two-and-a-half years, of the day that existed only in his memory, of the night a magickal elixir temporarily set Angelus free, of Penn's reappearance in his life and of the long descent into mortal hell that Darla's rebirth and death caused.  So many things had happened to change him from the man that she knew, even as she had gone through a million different moments in time out of the sight of his loving eyes.  He tried to picture a way that mere words could bridge the gap in understanding, and his mind reeled at the task.

But then he looked down into her hazel eyes, swiftly plummeting to the depths of the soul so nakedly offered to him, and he knew that words were only the patches; the real sharing came from their hearts, and those were never far out of sync.

"We do," he agreed gravely, "and we will."  He brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers.  "When this is done."

She eyed him warily, hearing a familiar reluctance in his tone.  "When we have the time," she countered, "which may be in the middle of done.  I'm tired of waiting for the 'perfect' time or the 'right' time, because it seems to me the only perfect times we have are when we're past all the stuff we need to get through to get to them."

Angel sighed as he took her arm and pointed her towards the door.  "We're also going to need to talk about your sentence structure," he pretended to scold her.  "Until I'm back up to speed, you're going to need to give me a road map."

"I like the 'until' part," she answered with a grin.

* * * * *

To Be Continued 


End file.
